


The Greatest Undertaking

by imitateslife



Series: It Takes a Village: Dadyard AU [1]
Category: Wooden Overcoats (Podcast)
Genre: Complete, Dadyard, Demisexual Rudyard, Family-focused fic, Gen, Light Chapyard, Podfic Welcome, Rudyard is trying so hard to be a good dad, Single Dad Rudyard AU, Warning for OC death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitateslife/pseuds/imitateslife
Summary: Rudyard discovers a family secret and Funn Funerals acquires a new apprentice. But as Rudyard comes to terms with parenthood, he still must contend with the judgments of others in Piffling Vale - especially those of Eric Chapman - all while preparing for the most emotionally challenging funeral he has conducted in nearly two decades. As Rudyard bonds with his daughter and strives to give her mother a meaningful memorial, he and the rest of Funn Funerals are confronted with the meaning of family, love, and loss.
Relationships: Antigone Funn & Rudyard Funn, Eric Chapman & Rudyard Funn, Eric Chapman/Rudyard Funn, Georgie Crusoe & Rudyard Funn, Rudyard Funn & Calliope
Series: It Takes a Village: Dadyard AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1838578
Comments: 159
Kudos: 149





	1. In Which Rudyard Discovers He Is a Father

It was a rainy afternoon on Piffling Vale when Rudyard Funn secured his first funeral of the month. It hadn’t been hard - not that he’d tell Antigone that. He wanted his sister to think he’d fought Eric Chapman tooth and nail for the booking. - but it had been odd. The telephone rang and, with his usual brusque tone, Rudyard answered.

“Now, look here.”

“Mr. Funn?” 

The small, familiar voice on the other line belonged to none other than Calliope. She’d never telephoned Rudyard before, but Calliope, in a perfect world, would have been his protege. They’d met during Rudyard’s short tenure as Scout Leader and now, under Calliope’s guidance, the Scouts flourished. Rudyard liked to think he’d taught her something about leadership on the night they’d cremated her former scout leader. What Rudyard liked to think and the truth weren’t always perfectly aligned. 

“Calliope! Or is it Scout Leader Calliope now?” Rudyard asked, leaning jauntily against the counter. “You don’t have any more bodies to cremate, do you?”

“Er... Actually… Yes.” 

“Oh.” Rudyard’s voice went soft. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I would have thought you’d be doing the cremations by now.”

“Mum said not to start on human funerals until mortuary school,” she said quietly. “I would have loved to do this one, though.”

“Right. Who is the deceased?”

“My mum.”

“Oh.” Rudyard paused. “Calliope, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.” A pause. “She insisted upon using Funn Funerals if I wasn’t of age. There’s a lot of paperwork for you.”

“Yes, yes, there always is. It’s a funeral and I do love paperwork. But how are you doing, Calliope?”

“As well as I can,” she said. “Mr. Funn, there’s really a lot of important paperwork.”

“You’ve said that.” Rudyard frowned as another thought entered his brain. He imagined Calliope, capable and odd, alone in a house on Piffling, carrying on because it was expected of her, but without anyone to lean on and with no adults to supervise her (or pretend to supervise her). Fear gripped him by the throat - was she really all right? Rudyard took a deep breath. He tried to recall Calliope’s family and couldn’t. “Are you staying with anyone? It was always just you and your mum if I recall correctly…”

“Yes. Just us. Mr. Funn-”

“And I don’t suppose Chapman’s finished building the Piffling Vale Orphanage yet-”

“Mr. Funn-”

“I suppose you could stay  _ here _ . We could do with an apprentice. Antigone is terribly allergic to children, of course, but she won’t spend much time outside the mortuary-” 

“Mr. Funn, my mother wrote you a letter,” Calliope said. “I think you’ll want to read it first.”

“Now, look here, Calliope, my offer isn’t contingent upon a letter. You have a place at Funn Funerals as long as you want it. Where are you now?”

“I’m at Chapman Community Hospital.”

“ _ Chapman _ …!” 

“He’s offered to do the funeral. A couple of times. But I told him I’d wait until you read my mother’s letter. If you still want the booking after you’ve read it… Then it’s yours.”

“Of course I’ll still want the booking. Stay right where you are. I’ll be right over.”

He rummaged in the closet for his jacket - preferably a jacket that hadn’t been eaten by moths and made him look like a serious funeral director. He settled on the only remaining jacket there: a faded, black suit jacket that didn’t at all match his gray pants. It would have to do. He rather hoped to look professional for Calliope. As unfortunate as her loss was, in the air hung the potential of gaining an apprentice from it. With every funeral, there was a silver lining, after all.

Rudyard Funn did not frequent Chapman’s establishment, more a funhouse than a funeral home, even though it was just across the square. Most times Rudyard had visited Chapman’s, he’d only been in the lobby. Once or twice, he’d been to the cafe - always at another person’s insistence - and then there had been the one, semi-memorable trip to Chapman’s mortuary, which Rudyard only remembered because he now felt distinctly uneasy about rhubarb and though he couldn’t be sure as to why - he’d had a fever that day - he was sure it was Chapman’s fault. Today, he rode the lift to the hospital and was greeted with muzak and sterile surroundings. Rudyard rushed through the halls, peeking into open doors in search of Calliope. He found her, sitting at the foot of an occupied hospital bed, refusing to look at Eric Chapman as he spoke.

“- And we’ll set up a college trust for you!” he said. “We could do with a mortuary science scholarship fund. You could be the first Calliope Scholar!”

“What’s all this then?” Rudyard asked. “Stealing my client, Chapman?”

Chapman and Calliope both startled and looked up. 

“It’s not what it looks like, Rudyard…”

“Is he making fancy promises to you, hinging on whether or not you book your mother’s funeral with him?” Rudyard asked, walking to Calliope. 

“ _ Yes _ .”

She sounded remarkably like Antigone at that moment - so thoroughly exasperated by this world and quite possibly the next - that it warmed part of Rudyard’s heart he didn’t often acknowledge. He had the urge to put his arms around Calliope as a force field to keep Chapman out, but he didn’t make a habit of hugging the clients - or anybody, really - and he wasn’t about to start now. He still stepped towards Calliope and put his hand on the back of her chair, puffing up like a cobra.

“You were saying, Chapman?”

“Oh, never mind,” Chapman said, rising from his chair. He stepped towards Rudyard and Calliope. “Rudyard, I understand if this booking is too difficult for you...:”

“Oh-ho! The great Eric Chapman thinks Funn Funerals can’t handle one woman’s funeral!  _ Well _ -!”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-”

“It’s just that you think that your funeral home with its fancy, new scholarship programs is vastly superior to mine.”

“Rudyard, please-”

“Calliope and her mother have made a fine choice in selecting Funn Funerals over Chapman’s for the service and you will not poach this one from me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Chapman said. “I only meant that if you change your mind-”

“We won’t.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Not at all.”

“But if it gets to be too much-”

“It  _ won’t _ .”

Chapman sighed. For a moment, Rudyard thought he was going to touch him - clasp his shoulder or something - but if Chapman planned on it, something changed his mind, perhaps Rudyard’s intense glaring. His shoulders slumped and he looked at Rudyard with the kind of pity Rudyard had only ever seen cross Chapman’s face at a funeral while comforting the bereaved. Rudyard held his gaze steady. Why wasn’t he looking at Calliope that way? Why  _ Rudyard _ ? Watching Chapman leave, eyes burning, Rudyard wondered if he was really so pitiful Chapman had to look at him like he’d lost something when Rudyard had gained a client and quite possibly an apprentice. It didn’t matter what Chapman thought. It didn’t even matter if Rudyard was, in fact, pitiful. What mattered was whether Calliope was all right. Resilient girl. Rudyard thought of his own parents’ deaths when he and Antigone were only nineteen. Chapman couldn’t fathom what Calliope was experiencing, but maybe, just maybe Rudyard  _ could _ . That terrified him a little and, if he was honest, thrilled him, too. He thought of that night in the woods, watching her navigate the dense trees expertly and bonding over shared weirdness and interests, seeing Antigone reflected in her - seeing  _ himself _ \- reflected in her… He’d wanted to take care of her then, but found she took care of him instead. Now, finally, he could return the favor. 

When Chapman finally left the room, Rudyard looked to Calliope. Her dark eyes were round with curiosity and they shone with unshed tears. Rudyard admired her for keeping up the brave face in front of Chapman. It must have been hard to be ten years old and face Eric bloody Chapman right on the heels of your mother’s death. 

_ Brave girl,  _ he thought.  _ Let’s hope she doesn’t lose her courage now that Chapman’s out of the room _ . 

“How are you holding up?” 

Calliope shrugged. Rudyard couldn't recall ever comforting a grieving child before. Children of the deceased were often adults themselves. Calliope looked extra small, pale and weary, with lank black hair and cautious, dark eyes. She stared at Rudyard and he felt under observation as if Calliope was appraising him for tiny (or massive) flaws and determining if she planned to toss him away, maybe go with Chapman. As far as Rudyard knew, Calliope was alone in the world. She always spoke of her mum, but not siblings or a father. Were there grandparents? Come to think of it, Rudyard wasn't even wholly certain who her mother was. He didn't match children to their parents at village events, often preferring to avoid the youth element of Piffling altogether.

"Is that her?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at the body in the bed. 

Calliope nodded. 

“How long were you alone with the body?” Rudyard asked - it felt like a strange question, but an important one to ask.

“Oh, you know,” Calliope said vaguely. “Dr. Edgeware stayed for fifteen minutes before he was needed at the other hospital and then Mr. Chapman found me a little while after. Tried to cheer me up, tried to get the booking, asked me why I was choosing Funn Funerals.”

“Did you tell him it was for our superior business model and scented embalming fluids?” 

“I should have,” Calliope said quietly. “Mr. Funn… I really think you should read my mum’s letter before…”

“Yes, yes,” Rudyard said. “I just want to get her dimensions first… If you watch carefully, Calliope, you might learn a few tricks of the trade… Sizing up a corpse for a coffin is not as easy as it looks…”

“Suit yourself.” 

Calliope pulled a purple envelope out of her jacket. It looked like it had been resealed a few times. Rudyard, meanwhile, pulled a measuring tape from his breast pocket and walked up to the body of Calliope’s mother. He stretched out the measuring tape, reaching across her chest, from shoulder to shoulder. He happened to look up. For the first time, Rudyard examined Calliope’s mother’s face. He expected to see traces of Calliope in the face of the deceased. He could see a little of her in the slope of the forehead, the curve of the chin, but the dead woman looked more familiar than that. It puzzled Rudyard. He would have sworn he knew this woman, despite making a habit never to speak to people unless strictly necessary. Had she banned him from the premises of her business? Or perhaps she was one of the women who, when Rudyard had been imprisoned, suddenly caught onto his mystique and charm? Rudyard frowned. Neither seemed right. Her careworn features might have been pretty in life, in youth. Rudyard tried to imagine them and as he did, patchy memories crossed his mind. The music shop he stopped going to eleven years ago. A lively conversation about mandolin care. A woman’s laughter. Fingers against his shoulder, tenderly. The first and last glass of wine he’d ever indulged in - bubbly and effervescent and utterly unpleasant. Warm breath against his cheek. A moment’s hesitation. A first kiss. And then another. 

“Calliope?”

“Yes?”

“What is -  _ was _ \- your mother’s name?” 

“Cordelia Roach.”

Rudyard made a soft, distressed noise. 

“She owned the music shop?”

“Until it burned down five years ago, yeah. She’s been teaching music at the primary school since.” 

“Right. Yes.” Rudyard paused. “And you’re… nine? eight?”

“Ten.”

Rudyard’s eyes stung. Heart pounding, he wondered if it was too late to foist the funeral onto Chapman after all as something akin to grief overtook him - blind panic. He looked around. The door was right there. Open. He could run home. But Calliope was there and she looked up at him with big, dark eyes that were too familiar to ignore. They looked nothing like Cordelia Roach’s. They looked like Rudyard’s. Exactly so. 

“You know,” he said faintly, “I don’t think I need to read your mother’s letter. Or to know why she insisted on Funn Funerals.” 

Calliope pressed the envelope into Rudyard’s hand anyways. 

“It’s a lot to process,” she said. “But when you’ve processed it… I’d like to know if your offer still stands. I’d rather be your apprentice any day than owe my career in the mortuary sciences to Eric Chapman. I’m staying with Douglas’ family if you need me.”

“Right,” Rudyard said faintly. He groped his way back to the chair and sat down in it. “And… and you know where to find me.”

Calliope looked as if she might say something else but instead walked out of the room in a hurry, disappearing down the labyrinthine halls of Chapman Community Hospital, while Rudyard was left to contemplate something he never had before. He had a daughter and she’d always been just a stone’s throw away.

Twenty minutes later, Rudyard and Georgie wheeled Cordelia’s body across the square and into Funn Funerals. As they hauled the body up the front steps, Rudyard’s directions lacked their usual sharp bossiness. His mind was a million miles away. In the whole of his life, Rudyard Funn had only had sex twice. Both times had been when he was twenty-four years old. Both times had been with Cordelia Roach. The first had been an experiment, after trying to loosen up with a glass of sickly sweet wine while sitting in her music room. They’d both been young, a little naive, curious. In all of Piffling Vale, she was the only woman who did not treat him as a curiosity or pox. Instead, they bonded over a shared love of antiquated instruments and distaste for the modernity sweeping Piffling as Mayor Desmond Desmond tried (unsuccessfully) to supply the island with dial-up internet. They’d been having a spirited debate about the popularity of the accordion when Cordelia kissed him. He hadn’t expected it at all. He’d made a joke and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him. He made a noise of dissent. 

It felt good, but he hadn’t asked for it. 

“Sorry,” she said, flushing blotchily pink. “It’s just, I like you, Rudyard. Fancy you.”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, tilting her chin so she faced him. He touched her as if her skin was glass, which might shatter under his touch. “I do like you, Cordelia, but I’m an old-fashioned man. Shouldn’t we be corresponding by letter first?”

She laughed. It hadn’t been a joke. 

“At the very least,” Rudyard continued, “I wanted to be the one to kiss you first.” 

“You still can.”

“I can’t! You kissed me first already. If I kiss you, I’ll be kissing you second.”

“There are… other things you might consider doing to me,” she said. 

It was Rudyard’s turn to blush. Modesty only held out for so long, between the alcohol and the challenge in Cordelia’s voice and the realization that this may be his only opportunity to ever make love to someone, Rudyard seized the opportunity. 

A week later, sober, they repeated the endeavor in her bedroom - a more traditional place to make love than a sofa, against a piano, and dangerously close to a 19th-century harp. Maybe it was more than twice if you wanted to be technical. It was meant to enlighten Rudyard. Did he actually enjoy sex, or had he only enjoyed the feeling of being wanted? Did he and Cordelia fancy each other or had it only been the alcohol? That night, they’d rolled gently against the mattress and pillows and tangled sweetly under sheets. Morning came and as Rudyard looked at another gray dawn creeping over Piffling, he realized that whatever this was, it could not hold. Beside him, Cordelia slept, breathing lightly and smiling in her sleep, hair a mess. Rudyard was happy now, but in a week, in a month, in a year, Cordelia would only see him the way the rest of Piffling Vale did. She hadn’t grown up here. It was a matter of time before she thought of Rudyard as a dullard and cock-up. And so, without a proper goodbye, he slipped out of her house and back to Funn Funerals and hoped they wouldn’t run into each other again.

They seldom did. Rudyard started maintaining his instrument collection without professional intervention. 

Looking back, he remembered bumping into her at the farmers’ market. She looked tired, sad, had gained weight. Maybe it had been unkind to point that out with as much glee as Rudyard had. 

“It’s hardly my fault,” Cordelia had snapped. “You could at least take some responsibility.”

“Now, look here,” Rudyard said, turning back to the apple crop, “it’s hardly my fault if you stopped taking care of yourself just because you miss me. If I had stayed, you would have only regretted it. I did you a favor.”

“I’m sure,” she said bitingly. “Maybe it’s a good thing you left. I can’t imagine you’d be a good partner or father in the long run.”

“Precisely. I’m glad you see reason.” 

When next he saw her with a small child on her hip, he didn’t bother giving her the “I told you so” he so desperately wanted to. He was only glad she’d found someone to give her the things he couldn’t. When curiosity eventually got to him and he asked around, everyone had different theories about where her child had come from, but it was clear that the husband or boyfriend or traveling clavichord salesman hadn’t stuck around. An “I told you so” would have been cruel, but it did seem that Cordelia had a type.

Now, however, as he transported her body to Funn Funerals, her letter burning a hole in his breast pocket, Rudyard had never felt so stupid. So angry. So elated. So numb. He and Georgie reached the foyer. He said nothing, instead of wondering what he might have done differently if he’d known about Calliope from the start.

“Oi! Antigone!” Georgie called out. “We’ve got a client!” 

Antigone materialized at the top of the stairs and rushed over to see who Georgie and Rudyard had brought in. She and Georgie spoke a little, but Rudyard hardly heard them. If Cordelia had only told him she was pregnant, he would have, of course, demanded a paternity test. And if it had been proof positive that Calliope was  _ his _ , Rudyard supposed he would have been a rubbish father, but he would have wanted to make things work. Would he have married Cordelia? His parents had been married. It hadn’t improved them as people or parents, but, as Rudyard had said, he was an old-fashioned man...

“- been actin’ weird since he called me in-”

“He’s always weird, Georgie-”

“Weirder than normal. He didn’t even smile smugly at Chapman when we were leaving-”

“That’s not like Rudyard…”

“And he didn’t boss me around when we moved the body.”

“That’s certainly unlike Rudyard. Rudyard? What’s going on?”

Rudyard dropped his side of the gurney with a ‘thunk’.Wide-eyed, he looked between his sister and his assistant, trying to summon up the words.

“If I were to tell you I was going to be a father…”

Georgie laughed, maybe even a little cruelly for Rudyard’s taste. 

“... or that I was one already, what would you say?” 

“So you’ve finally worked it out,” Antigone said. “Good. And have you apologized to Cordelia yet?”

“I can’t exactly do that, Antigone.”

“Why not?”

Rudyard indicated towards Cordelia’s lifeless form with a jerk of his head. Antigone gasped quietly - Rudyard had never heard her gasp at a corpse before - and murmured, “Oh, Rudyard…”

“She requested we do the funeral,” Rudyard said. “And Calliope is honoring it.”

“Your ten-year-old is in charge of the funeral?  _ Jesus wept. _ The least you could do is pick up the slack on this one…”

“Yes, well, I’m  _ planning  _ to, but I’ve been in a state of shock. It’s not every day you become a father, you know.”

“Hang on,” Georgie said, walking around to get a better look at Cordelia and then at Rudyard. She looked back and forth for a moment. “Are you tellin’ me you were shaggin’ Piffling School’s music teacher and no one bothered to tell me?”

“There’s not much to tell,” Rudyard said. “It wasn’t an on-going thing.”

Georgie waggled her eyebrows.

“So now you’re havin’ one-night-stands. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It was two nights, eleven years ago. I didn’t think it would matter-”

“But your actions have consequences,” Antigone interjected. “And in this case, that ‘consequence’ is a ten-almost-eleven-year-old girl, who’s lost one parent today and might require another.”

“You’re right. Antigone- you’re absolutely right. And I just let her  _ go _ … I  _ told _ Cordelia I’d be a terrible father...”

“At least you’re keepin’ your promises, sir,” Georgie said. “So. Who’s the kid?”

“Calliope.”

“Oh, yeah, I shoulda seen that one comin’. She looks like you - it’s a little scary. And she’s into all that morbid stuff Antigone likes. And she’s a little bossy and weird…”

“Don’t talk about my daughter that way,” Rudyard snapped. He sat down on the floor and drew his knees up to his chest. “What are we going to do? I’m not ready to have a child. Most people get nine months to prepare for this sort of thing, you know!”

“You’ve had eleven years, accounting for gestation,” Antigone said, joining her brother on the floor. “Cordelia  _ did _ try to tell you.”

“Oh, how would you know? You never met her.”

“No, but you told me all about that day in the market. She practically spelled it out for you and you just assumed she’d put on a little weight because she was  _ mourning the loss of you _ .”

Georgie snorted. 

“And maybe if you hadn’t been so dense, you would have gotten to raise Calliope with her. Or had joint custody. Or something. But there’s no point dwelling on the past. Your ex is dead and we have a funeral to prepare for. And you have a daughter to get to know. Did Cordelia leave you custody?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten to ask anyone. I don’t know who I’d ask.” 

“Do you think Calliope knows the truth?”

“That girl is sharp as a knife. Of course, she knows.” Rudyard paused. “Then again, she did call me ‘Mr. Funn’ all day.”

“Well, it’s new to her too. Besides, I think if we’d had the option, we would have called Father “Mr. Funn”, too.”

“I won’t be compared to that man.”

“Then you could start by acknowledging your daughter’s existence,” Antigone said with thin bitterness that even Rudyard knew wasn’t directed at him, per se. “Do you… Do you want custody?”

“I don’t know,” Rudyard said softly. “I told her she could stay here. Apprentice with us. But that was before I’d worked it out.”

“Hang on, why do we need an apprentice?” Georgie asked. “Can we  _ afford _ an apprentice?”

“Only if we pay with experience,” Rudyard muttered. “But if she  _ is _ my daughter, apprenticing here might be the best thing for her. It solves the whole legacy problem.”

“I could still have a child. If I wanted to,” Antigone said quickly. “It just so happens I don’t want to right now.”

“So… legacy problem?” Georgie asked, trying to refocus the pair of bickering Funns on the floor. “What do you mean?”

Rudyard sighed heavily and looked up. 

“Funn Funerals is a  _ family _ business. It’s been owned and operated by a Funn since the fifteenth century. But since most people think Antigone is dead-”

“ _ Jesus. _ ”

“- and that I’m insufferable, we’ve been waiting it out. Playing chicken, so to speak. See which one of us would have an heir to the family legacy, such as it is…” 

“Have you won or lost that game, sir?”

“I don’t know. But I suppose I should get after Calliope.”

“You shouldn’t have let her leave to begin with!” Antigone hissed. “What kind of irresponsible father are you?”

“I’ve been a father for less than an hour,” Rudyard said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m  _ learning. _ ”

“Right,” Georgie said. “It’s not something you just learn in an hour. Some parents never get the hang of it.”

“Precisely! …Wait. What?”

“Get after your daughter, sir,” Georgie said, patting Rudyard’s arm. “Antigone and I will get her mum down to the mortuary. C’mon, Antigone, things are about to get weird.”

Antigone bemoaned the loss of privacy she was sure she’d soon experience and the presence of a child in the funeral home before groaning as she lifted one end of the body and she and Georgie walked towards the mortuary.

“Good luck, Rudyard!” Georgie called out to him. 

“And don’t muck it up!” Antigone chimed in before she and Georgie descended the stairwell into the mortuary. 

Rudyard looked to Madeline’s mouse hole in the skirting board to see her sitting there, taking notes on a tiny notebook he’d made for her. She squeaked sheepishly. 

“Yes, well, I’m glad you think it’s riveting stuff,” Rudyard grunted. He lowered a hand to the floor, offering her a place to climb so he could lift her to his pocket. “C’mon. I could really use a friend for this.”

Madeleine squeaked in assent before climbing into Rudyard’s palm and then his pocket. Then, with a deep sigh, Rudyard braced himself to trudge back out in the rain. 

As soon as Rudyard set foot in the village square, he realized he didn’t know where Douglas lived or who his parents were. The only thing he could recall about the boy was that he shoved people. Already, Rudyard was certain that was not the kind of company he wanted his daughter to keep. He walked towards the cemetery - more from habit than inspiration - when he heard his name being called. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Rudyard turned to see Eric Chapman half-sprinting after him. Rudyard glared. 

“Chapman.”

“Rudyard, I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss. Even if she was your ex, you two must’ve been close… a long time ago.”

“You knew?” Rudyard glared harder. “Did you read the letter Cordelia wrote to me?”

“Letter? What? No. I just… I mean, forgive me if I’m overstepping-”

“You are.”

“- But when I saw you with Calliope at Scout Leader Bunts’ funeral, I just  _ knew _ she was yours. Why else would you work so hard to impress her? And, of course, I knew Cordelia. Lovely woman. I’m sorry things didn’t work out better for the two of you.”

“Yes, well, nothing good can last forever.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

Rudyard wanted to tell him there wasn’t. That he didn’t want Eric Chapman’s help, even in his hour of need. Instead, he tensed up and studied Chapman’s eyes. Big and blue and brimming with concern, they disconcerted him. Rudyard swallowed.

“There is something, actually,” he said. “Calliope is staying with a friend. A boy named Douglas. You wouldn’t happen to know where he and his parents might live?”

“Douglas… Is that the boy who keeps pushing people down my waterslide?” Chapman asked. He laughed. “Little rascal. He comes ‘round on Fridays while his mum and dad are at the coffee shop. Needs constant supervision. I think he only listens to me because he’ll be banned from the waterpark if he doesn’t follow safety protocol. They’re four houses down that way.” Chapman pointed. “The tan craftsman. Would you like me to go with you? I know these things can be scary to go through alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Madeline.”

Madeline squeaked, peering out of Rudyard’s pocket at Chapman. Chapman blinked. Then, his shoulders sagged. Then he squared them as if he found some second wind of optimism. 

“Right,” he said. “Of course. But if you need anything else-”

The rest of his words fell at Rudyard’s back, drowned out by his falsely chipper, “Thank you, Chapman!” as he strolled down the pavement towards the tan craftsman. When Rudyard ascended the steps, he stared silently at the door. 

“Well, Madeline,” he said. “Whatever happens, our lives are about to change radically today.”

She squeaked. 

“Yes, I  _ know _ they’ve changed already. It just seemed the thing to say.”

Another squeak. 

“Well, yes, of course, I’m nervous. It’s not every day you become a father.”

Another squeak.

“I know I’ve said that before. You know, if I’d known how judgemental you’d be about this, I wouldn’t have brought you with me. You’re supposed to be my moral support.” 

Rudyard took a deep breath. Gathering his courage, he balled his fist and knocked on the door. Quiet scuffling behind the door told Rudyard that maybe, just maybe, he’d been observed through the frosted glass for longer than he cared to realize. The door opened, revealing Calliope and a boy that must have been Douglas.

“Hello, Mr. Funn,” Calliope said, voice tentative and fragile as spun glass. “Did you read my mother’s letter?”

“Now look here,” Rudyard said. “I don’t need to have read your mother’s letter to know that, whether I’m ready to be a parent or not, you are my daughter. I have come here prepared to take on my responsibilities as your father, even if you are not yet ready to accept me as such. I also want you to know that my offer does, in fact, still stand. We have a spare room at Funn Funerals that can be all yours. And Antigone is growing accustomed to the notion of having an apprentice. You really would be an asset to the business and, more to the point, I want you there- Oof!”

Calliope’s thin arms wrapped themselves around Rudyard’s middle in an embrace. Rudyard’s hands flailed in the air uselessly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. He certainly didn’t hug children. But this was his daughter. He had to remind himself every few moments, not because he would forget, but because the gravity and reality of it all refused to sink in, floating at the top until Rudyard shoved it back into the depths of his psyche. Tears stung his eyes. Just as his fingers gingerly touched Calliope’s fine, black hair, she pulled away and offered him her hand to shake. 

“It’s a deal, Mr. Funn,” she said.

Rudyard took her hand.

“Considering the circumstances, perhaps you could call me Rudyard.”

“I told you he was weird,” Douglas groused from the doorway.

“No, I think Mr. Funn will do for now,” she said. “We’ll reevaluate later.”

“Right. Excellent. Well, then. Get your things and we’ll be on our way.”

“Mr. Funn?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Seven minutes later as Rudyard trekked back to Funn Funerals with his daughter in tow, the enormity of his new role lay before him and, somehow, Rudyard knew that he had never done anything so important as what he was now undertaking: raising his daughter and helping her through the loss of her mother. When they passed Chapman’s, Rudyard spared his rival’s property a cursory glance. Somehow, looking at the perfectly painted shutters, he wondered if Chapman had meant his offer of “anything at all” that Rudyard might need. But of course, that was just  _ Chapman _ , wasn’t it? What did he know about taking care of a child? Nothing. He was just a smug bastard, who wanted to show Rudyard up and watch him fail. Rudyard glared. He had failed at so much in front of Chapman. This would not be just another failure. If Rudyard was to succeed at one thing, this would be it. Raising a child was the most important thing a person could do, wasn’t it? And it was something Chapman wasn’t doing and never had done. For once, Rudyard could succeed at something his rival had never even attempted. It was more than that, of course. Each time Rudyard looked at Calliope, a pang of guilt stabbed him in the chest. He’d already missed ten years of her life. He didn’t just have something to prove to Eric Chapman. Calliope needed to know that Rudyard was dedicated to getting this right. He needed to show her that he could and would be a capable father for her sake as much as for any rivalry. 

And so they ascended the steps leading into the Gothic building Rudyard had known and loved all his life, he stopped looking for Chapman and his smug face and instead watched as Calliope breathed a soft, “Wow”, and took her first steps inside Funn Funerals.

The chaos that swiftly followed dimmed, but could not entirely spoil the moment. But that was an entirely different story. 


	2. In Which Reverend Wavering Reads a Will

Upon entering Funn Funerals with his daughter for the first time, Rudyard was greeted with the strangest of scenarios. Antigone, who usually hid in her mortuary under all but the direst circumstances, could be heard offering tea to someone in the kitchen and Georgie said something along the lines of, “He’ll turn up sooner or later.” The next voice Rudyard heard was as familiar as the first two but utterly unexpected. 

“Well,” Reverend Wavering said. “We can’t start proceedings  _ without _ him. I may not be licensed legal counsel, but even I know that!” 

For a moment, Rudyard thought that he might be facing a lawsuit. It wasn’t unheard of. Once, he’d cremated a woman’s husband instead of letting Antigone embalm the body to save time. The widow had threatened legal action, but in the end, rescinded her lawsuit because she rather liked the vase in which her husband’s ashes were interred. Another time, the gold fillings of several decedents went missing, but that had proven a case of corruption by the last doctor before Dr. Edgeware took up his post - nothing at all to do with Rudyard and Funn Funerals. He worried, looking down at his pocket if it might be a tax issue. He left such things to Madeline, but if there was an instance of foul play with their numbers, he would be the one on the hook. Uneasily glancing at Calliope and her rolling suitcase, he said -

“Take your things upstairs. Third bedroom. It’s all yours.”

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“No, of course not!” Rudyard lied. “At least, not that I’m aware of. Go unpack. Make yourself at home and don’t come back downstairs until I come to get you.”

Calliope squinted at him. Then, shrugging, she trudged up the stairs. The clacking of her suitcase wheels caught Georgie’s attention and she darted into the foyer. 

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked, voice low and quiet. “You didn’t tell Cal to unpack, did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told her to take her things upstairs, but-”

Georgie growled. 

“The reverend is here with Cordelia’s will,” Georgie said. “He says there are particulars to discuss with you.”

“Particulars?”

“Oh, don’t look so eager, Rudyard. He won’t say what they are. They might not be  _ good _ .” 

“Yes, right. I know that.” Rudyard deflated a little.”Why’s Antigone playing hostess?”

“We think the ‘particulars’ might be whether Funn Funerals is any place fit for a child. She’s trying to prove to Reverend Wavering you’re a perfectly normal family with a completely stable home.”

A peal of Antigone's fake laughter rang out from the kitchen, followed by the phrase, "Just a little graveyard humor! We are a perfectly normal, well-adjusted family, Reverend…"

“And she thinks lying to Reverend Wavering will do the trick?” Rudyard scoffed. “Now, look here, I was raised in Funn Funerals and I’ve turned out completely ordinary. Just because Antigone can't make small talk-”

“Rudyard? Is that you?” Reverend Wavering called out. He materialized in the doorway, smiling uncertainly. “Good. We couldn’t start without you - and I don’t know how many cups of hot water a man is expected to drink as a guest, but I don’t know if I can drink another drop…”

“Well, you know we always offer our finest hot water when we have such an important visitor!” Rudyard said with enthusiasm that caused both Antigone and Georgie to stare at him. He cleared his throat. “Is… ah… Is everything all right?” 

"Well, that is the question," Reverend Wavering said. "A woman has  _ died _ after all… Cordelia Roach, as you well know…"

"Yes, we collected the body this morning,” Rudyard said. 

“... Left behind a ten-year-old daughter. Cal-something-or-other. Calista? Calpurnia?”

“Calliope.”

“That’s the ticket! Strange girl. Rung me up a few times to find out if I did services at pet funerals. More than the usual once or twice a child might do. Do you do pet services?”

“I… we… We wouldn’t be opposed.” 

Rudyard had never considered the market for pet funerals and now felt rather sheepish he hadn’t. He’d performed the burial of pets before - Antigone’s hamster, for instance. She hadn’t let him bury her cat, preferring to instead taxidermy him, but they’d still conducted a memorial service. There was no reason why, twenty years later, they were above such things. 

“Oh, really?” Reverend Wavering asked. “I suppose that means I’ll have to figure out what to say when people ask me if animals have souls. Do you suppose an animal has the same type of soul as a person?”

“Reverend,” Antigone interjected, “didn’t you have something specific to talk to Rudyard about? Concerning Cordelia Roach?” 

“Oh, yes! Right, right… Rudyard, I think you may want to sit down for this bit.”

Rudyard looked around for furniture and then, remembering they’d used much of it to furnish coffins, shrugged his shoulders. He could always sit on the floor. 

“I’d rather stand, if it’s the same to you,” Rudyard said. 

“Are you sure? Because when I read this I was so shocked I collapsed onto the couch and Des didn’t find me for twenty minutes.” 

“I’m sure., Reverend. If I fall down, there will be plenty of witnesses to find me.”

“Well, perhaps it’s best if your sister and Miss Crusoe left us alone for this bit. It’s very personal.”

“Anything you can say to Rudyard, you can say in front of us,” Georgie said. “Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Yes. That’s absolutely right.”

“Are you quite sure?” Reverend Wavering asked. “They may not want to hear this…”

“It’s fine,” Antigone said. “It can’t be the worst thing we’ve heard today.”

“Oh, dear. I don’t want to make any of you have a worse day-”

“Reverend, now look here-”

“You’re right. You’re right. I have with me Cordelia Roach’s last will and testament and it’s rather concerned with you, Rudyard. Did you know about this?”

“I can’t say I’m surprised-”

“Really?”

Rudyard made a noncommittal sound. 

“Fascinating!” The reverend opened a manila envelope and pulled out a crisp sheet of paper. He cleared his throat. “I, Cordelia Roach, being of sound body and mind, bequeath all my worldly goods to my only child, Calliope Roach Funn, and entrust her care and safety to her father, Rudyard Funn, until she reaches the age of majority.” 

“Is that it?” Rudyard asked unflinchingly. “That’s a terribly short will.”

“You’d think there’d be more,” Reverend Wavering said, turning the paper over. Then, slowly, he looked up at Rudyard again and his eyes got wide. “Wait a minute. Rudyard, are you saying it’s possible you are Calliope’s father?”

“I’d say it’s more than ‘possible’, Reverend-”

“Are you saying-? Oh, goodness! I think I need to sit down-”

“But you’ve read the will before! You knew it would say that!”

“I thought you might call her “sound mind” into question! Put the rest of us at ease!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

As Reverend Wavering and Rudyard bickered, Antigone eased the ecclesiastical agnostic to the ground and Georgie held Rudyard back from pouncing on him angrily. After a few moments, arguing subsided to tense silence. Rudyard glared down at the reverend on his floor. 

“So now what?” Rudyard asked. 

“Well, we’re going to need a paternity test from you, to corroborate the will.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s only a formality! And the only way to be 99.9% certain that you are, in fact, Calliope’s father.”

“Reverend Wavering, can you think of one good reason anyone would claim Rudyard fathered their child unless it was absolutely true?” Antigone asked. 

“Hey!”

“Oh, shut up, Rudyard!” Antigone snapped. “No woman would lie about that. If any woman was likely to claim you as the father of her child, we wouldn’t be talking about the necessity of a paternity test.”

“Well, actually, we would,” the reverend said. “It really  _ is _ a formality. I just would have said so with less skepticism.” 

No one was sure if the reverend was capable of expressing anything with less skepticism, but no one called it into question. 

“All right then. What do I have to do to complete this formality?”

“Nothing much - just a cheek swab and wait a week. The trouble is, we need a cheek swabbing from Calliope, too, and no one has seen her since she left Chapman Community Hospital this morning. It seems someone has kidnapped what might very well be your daughter.”

Georgie glared at Rudyard. Under her glare, he started to wilt. Antigone gritted his name with the underlying tone of “what the bloody hell have you done now?”. Pulling himself up straighter and smoothing out his tie, Rudyard fixed his eyes on Reverend Wavering’s. 

“No one has kidnapped my daughter.”

“We don’t know that,” Reverend Wavering said. “We don’t know whose daughter she is. My money is on that traveling clavichord salesman…”

“What I mean is that no one has kidnapped Calliope. She’s upstairs.”

“You kidnapped Cordelia Roach’s child?” Reverend Wavering asked, scrambling to his feet. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I didn’t kidnap her! Get your hands off my shoulders!” Rudyard began to pry the reverend’s fingers loose. “Calliope is our intern. Until the issue of her custody is sorted, she’ll be staying with us. Actually, once the issue of her custody is sorted, she’ll still be staying with us, since she is, in fact, my daughter.”

“I didn’t realize you had an internship program!” Reverend Wavering said. “Does Eric Chapman have an internship program?”

“He said something about a scholarship program this morning…”

“He’s such a good man. Always doing something for the community, you know…”

“Yes, but he hasn’t got an internship program.”

“Are you sure? It might be less of a conflict of interest for Calliope to intern there…”

“I don’t want to intern with Eric Chapman,” Calliope said from the doorway. None of them had noticed her come in or knew how long she’d been there. “I want to stay at Funn Funerals.”

“Are you quite certain, young lady?” Reverend Wavering asked. “If the paternity test comes back negative-”

“It won’t,” Rudyard said tightly.

“Are you calling my mother a liar?” Calliope asked the reverend.

“No! It’s just… if the test comes back negative, and I’m not saying it will, although it’s highly unlikely that Rudyard is anyone’s father, there will be all sorts of legal nonsense, trying to figure out where you belong.”

“I belong at Funn Funerals. Before you read my mother’s will, Mr. Funn said that there’s a place for me here as long as I want it.”

“Is that true, Rudyard?” Antigone’s voice was soft, surprised. 

“I did say that, yes.” Rudyard looked at Madeline in his pocket but found no comfort in her beady eyes. “I offered her the internship before I had the slightest inkling she might be my daughter.”

“Did you?” Reverend Wavering sounded relieved. “Then I suppose she should stay here, then, at least until we know for certain who her father is. Good thing, too, Eric hasn’t finalized plans for the Piffling Vale Orphanage…”

“And if she is my daughter-”

“On the off chance she is your daughter, then we won’t have to uproot her. But, Calliope, I wouldn’t get too comfortable here, just in case.”

“Have you scheduled the test with Dr. Edgeware yet or shall I do that?” Rudyard asked, following the reverend to the door.

“I don’t see why I ought to take a paternity test-”

“Never mind,” Rudyard cut him off. “I thought the court might order me to do it within the next seven days or something.”

“Ah, yes, well, we’ve never had to have someone take a paternity test on Piffling. I didn’t know there might be legal precedent for it. I was going to say to take it at your earliest convenience but if seven days is customary… I’ll see you all at the funeral, then!”

With that, Reverend Wavering saw himself out the front door. Rudyard stared helplessly at it for a moment before sighing. 

“The sooner we can get this formality out of the way, the better,” he mumbled. Then, rounding on Calliope, he said, “How long have you been eavesdropping?”

She shrugged.

“Answer me, young lady!”

“I’ll tell you when the court decides you really are my father,” Calliope said. “So… when do you want to go get our cheeks swabbed?”

Rudyard marched to the telephone and began to dial for Dr. Edgeware. After a few minutes of haggling, he made the good doctor cry and schedule them for the first thing the next morning. Satisfied, Rudyard hung up only to see all of Funn Funerals, including Calliope, staring at him.

"What is my first task as your intern?" Calliope asked.

Rudyard had not planned this far into the day nor had he considered that their only client was Calliope's mother. He looked at Georgie and Antigone for help.

"I'm going to the mortuary," Antigone announced. "It's your turn to make dinner, so don't get me until it's ready or unless you're on fire. I think I've had my fill of socializing…"

"I suppose Georgie could-"

"Can't. I'm at the mayor's office for the rest of the day. It's on the calendar."

"Right." Rudyard sighed. "Then I suppose  _ I _ can give you the grand tour."

Calliope beamed as Rudyard guided her back into the foyer. Scant sunlight filtered in through the windows, dimly lighting the gloomy halls. The dark wallpaper dated back two generations and Rudyard told her as much. He showed her the desk and with only a little trepidation, let her explore the drawers. 

“You need a high-back chair,” Calliope said. “Where  _ is _ most of your furniture?”

“It’s better if you don’t ask.” He paused. “There is a bed in the third bedroom, isn’t there?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said. “It looks like no one’s used it in years.”

“It used to be my parents’ room,” Rudyard said. “But it’s yours, now. We can move your things in, of course, when the court makes its decision.”

“Why don’t we have a proper legal infrastructure?” Calliope asked. “If Mayor Desmond Desmond wants us to be a town, wouldn’t it make sense to have lawyers and judges?”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“I remember your trial,” Calliope said. “Mum tried writing to you while you were in prison.”

“One of those fan letters, no doubt…”

“Not exactly.” Calliope traced absent designs against the grain of the wood on the desk. “She knew some lawyers in Brighton, wanted to see you get a fair trial. She said it wouldn’t do for me to have one parent who was incarcerated.” 

“She said that?”

“Oh, yeah. Thought it would set a poor example.”

“Calliope, just how long have you known I was your father?” Rudyard asked. 

Calliope stopped tracing designs on the desk. She wouldn’t look at Rudyard. Since he had known her, Calliope had never struck Rudyard as shy. Seeing her retreat into herself unnerved him. Finally, she sighed. 

“Well, it’s never been a  _ secret _ ,” she said. “I guess I’ve known ever since Mrs. Busby’s funeral. I remember standing with Mum and watching you perform the service and I told my mum ‘ _ I want to be that man when I grow up _ ’ and she smiled tightly and asked if I didn’t mean the reverend. I pestered her the whole service about you and you came over and shushed me and you and Mum had a row. Something like, ' _ You forfeited the right to shush her when you left _ .' And ' _ I’ll shush anyone who interrupts one of my funerals _ .' And ' _ Maybe we should talk when all of this is over.' _ And you said, ' _ Of course, you can talk when it’s over, but for now, keep your daughter quiet _ .' And Mum said, ' _ Our daughter, Rudyard _ .' And you said, ' _ What now? _ 'And the reverend shushed  _ you _ and you had to go get the coffin in the ground…”

“Mrs. Busby’s funeral? That was four years ago,” Rudyard said. “So when we met in earnest last year…”

“I hoped you would figure it out,” Calliope said. “But I was just excited to spend an evening in the woods, conducting a funeral with you. I’d been dreaming of it for four years. It was everything I hoped it would be. Except… you didn’t realize that I was your daughter.” 

“Calliope… I don’t know what to say…”

“It’s all right,” she said. “You’ll know for sure a week from now. Until then, just treat me like you would treat any intern if it’s easier.”

“I’ve never had an intern before.”

“Why did you create a position for me?” Calliope peered up at Rudyard. “You didn’t know I was your daughter; I didn’t have to be your responsibility.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Rudyard pinched the bridge of his nose. “I- I don’t know. You’re a remarkable girl, Calliope. I just wanted to… help.” 

“Do you really think I’m remarkable? Most people prefer to say I’m ‘unique’ or ‘weird’.”

“You can be all three things at once,” Rudyard said quickly, almost defensively. “Come along, Calliope. I haven’t even gotten to show you the coffin workshop…”

Rudyard led Calliope on a tour of the rest of Funn Funerals, excluding the mortuary. It was all rather unimpressive to his eyes, but Calliope asked pertinent questions, soaking in everything Rudyard said. As dinnertime approached, Rudyard led her to the kitchen and he rooted around in the cupboard for suitable dinner things. He asked Calliope to stay out of the way, but as she noticed him struggling to add life to a baked bean dish, she started to coach him through a Greek-inspired recipe to brighten the flavors. The scent of cooking that  _ wasn’t _ burning lured Antigone from the mortuary and she saw Calliope coaching Rudyard through the recipe. For the first time in a long time, dinner looked and smelled edible. She hung in the shadows.

“- Mum taught me to cook a little,” Calliope said, “but I prefer anything made over an open campfire. Once a month, she’d let me light one in the yard to roast marshmallows with…”

“In the yard?” Rudyard asked. “I suppose we can carry on the tradition if it puts you at ease.”

“We could try the crematorium,” Calliope said. “You do have one, don’t you?”

“Yes, but that’s Antigone’s domain and I really don’t suppose she’d let you-”

“Of course I wouldn’t let you!” Antigone said. “That’d be desecration!”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to join us until dinner was ready,” Rudyard said, looking over. “Did you finish your work already?”

“No. You can’t rush art, Rudyard. How many times must I tell you? Oh, never mind.” A pause. “Dinner smells good. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you-”

“I was talking to Calliope.” Antigone looked at the girl and offered her a shaky smile. “You really are exceptionally talented.”

Calliope flushed blotchily. 

“Thank you, Miss Funn.” 

“Antigone, please.”

“Antigone. Thank you. … Dinner is almost ready. Have you washed up from the mortuary? Whenever I would embalm an animal, Mum made me scrub up twice before dinner.”

“I- Of course.” 

Antigone cast a side-along glance at Rudyard before disappearing up the stairs to the bathroom, presumably to wash her hands a second time. A few moments later, the Funns - all three of them - sat together on the floor for what was undeniably the best meal any of them had had together - so far. Tomorrow would be another day.


	3. In Which Rudyard Takes a Paternity Test, Calliope Visits the Mortuary, and Chapman has Useful Things to Say, Which No One Wants to Hear

Morning came earlier than normal, as Rudyard had not slept the night. Instead, consumed by plans, he mapped out the separate paths his life could take, paternity test pending. If Calliope was his child, it really did secure his legacy - although, now that Funn Funerals was no longer the only funeral home on the island, it hardly seemed a legacy worth securing. If Calliope was his daughter, Rudyard would have to redouble his efforts to improve upon Funn Funerals and to beat Chapman in the field of undertaking. If Calliope was not his child, even though Rudyard was now quite certain she was, he would still have to redouble his efforts to keep her on as an apprentice because the last thing anyone needed was a headline about how Eric Chapman swooped in and saved the poor, orphaned girl after her mother’s untimely death. Really, it all boiled down to beating Chapman. It always did, somehow. 

Perhaps that was why at seven o’clock in the morning, as Rudyard heaved himself and a sleepy Calliope across the square, he was displeased to be in Chapman Community Hospital. He’d taken the appointment, knowing that it was the only time Dr. Edgeware was available, but he hadn’t realized he would be sitting in the cheerfully painted waiting room, listening to muzak, with a grieving ten-year-old who, when last here only yesterday, had sat with her mother’s corpse, unsupervised, for an unspecified amount of time. Rudyard looked over at Calliope warily. Surely her grief or her trauma would surface now. Instead, nonplussed, she flipped through a magazine. 

“There’s time for you to get a coffee if you need one,” she said, not looking up. “I know you didn’t sleep.”

“What?”

“You were up all night, worrying about today,” Calliope said. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to be my father, either.”

“Now, look here, Calliope: that isn’t it at all. I was up all night trying to devise a way to beat-”

“Good morning, Rudyard… Calliope…”

“ _Chapman!_ ”

“How are we feeling today?” Chapman asked, striding across the waiting room. In his hand, he carried a clipboard; on his lips, he wore a smile. “I hope you studied; this is a very big test…”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t study for a cheek swabbing.”

“I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Well, don’t. We’re getting by perfectly fine without your help.”

“Right. Is that true, Calliope?” Chapman asked. “Are you getting by perfectly fine with the Funns, then?”

“I am. Last night at dinner, I showed Antigone my junior embalmer’s set and she was very impressed. After, Mr. Funn helped me set up my bedroom and told me that once we got this nasty business out of the way, we’d redecorate, but I _like_ all the old things in the spare bedroom… My favorite is the poisoner’s almanac. Mr. Funn said it belonged to his mother. It’s vintage, but any prepared mortician and survivalist should recognize the symptoms of poisoning, don’t you think so, Mr. Chapman?”

Chapman cast a worried look at Rudyard. Rudyard sighed. That wasn’t why his mother had had it. Every so often during Rudyard’s childhood, she would leave it out conspicuously for his father to see, to remind him that she would know how to make his death look like an accident. Antigone admired her for that; Rudyard quite feared her. He wasn’t going to blather family secrets like that one to Chapman. He certainly wasn’t going to tell his daughter that her paternal grandparents had loathed each other. It set a bad precedent already that her parents had been estranged, after all. Although, upon reflection, Rudyard couldn’t help but think that having estranged parents might be preferable to having openly hostile ones. He didn’t listen as Chapman stammered some kind of response to Calliope. However, Rudyard dimly realized that they were standing around the waiting room like idiots with no doctor in sight. He cleared his throat. 

“Right, then,” Rudyard said. “Where is Dr. Edgeware so we can get this part of the day over with?”

“About that…” said Chapman.

“Oh, no. He’s finally gone, hasn’t he? And let me guess - you’ve already got the booking..”

“What? No! Rudyard, Dr. Edgeware is at the other hospital today. If you’d been listening to him yesterday instead of trying to make him _cry_ you’d know that your appointment is with me.”

“With you?”

“Yep. I may not be a doctor, but I did study medicine at Oxford a long time ago. I help out when I can and since Dr. Edgeware says I’m not to provide grief counseling ‘til I finish my correspondence course, I take on what I can to help out.” 

“I see. And now St. Chapman is just going to swoop in and make a media grab over what is _my_ private, family affairs-”

“Oh, knock it off, Rudyard. That’s no way to behave in front of a child - especially one that might be your daughter. I just meant-”

“To stick your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

“God, no! I Just meant that you might prefer a friend running the test for you than Dr. Edgeware.”

“I’d prefer to have a professional handle my medical procedures.”

“It’s not a medical procedure. I’m going to swab your cheek, and swab Calliope’s cheek, and run the DNA through a very old machine that will scan the data.”

“If it’s not a medical procedure, then why are we in a hospital?”

“Blimey!” Chapman pinched the bridge of his nose and said to Calliope, “If this test doesn’t come back negative, I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

“Hey!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Chapman. I’ve made an extensive study of Mr. Funn for the last few years. It will come back positive and I am positive I can handle him. I’ve had time to make peace with it.”

“It’s been a day, Calliope,” Chapman said gently.

“Speed and efficiency,” Calliope said, holding up her fingers in a scouting salute. “Actually, I’m very excited for the confirmation that he’s my father.” 

“There you go,” Rudyard said. “She wants me to be her father, so I don’t see why we need you to do an invasive medical procedure-”

“Do you not want it done then?” Chapman asked. “I thought Reverend Wavering ordered you to get it done this week. And this really is the only free time I have available for three weeks…”

“How do you know about that?” Rudyard demanded. 

“I had dinner with Dez and Nigel last night. I suspect it’ll be all ‘round the village by lunch. Which only further proves my point: wouldn’t you rather it be done by someone who may not be a doctor, but who at least isn’t going to join in on the gossip?”

“Oh, as if you won’t tell Lady Templar about today after one too many Shirley Temples-!”

“In the interest of speed and efficiency,” Calliope said, “maybe we should just let Mr. Chapman run the test.”

That was how Rudyard found himself sitting on a cold doctor’s table, with Eric Chapman shoving a Q-tip in his mouth. The sanitary paper crinkled under Rudyard as he winced away from the sensation. 

“Calliope sat still for hers,” Chapman said. “Would you stop wriggling?”

“I don’t like you sticking things in my mouth,” Rudyard said. “It’s invasive.”

“I’m sorry, Rudyard, but it is necessary to collect a DNA sample from you.”

“Can’t you do a blood draw? Or get Dr. Edgeware?”

“We’ve been over this,” Chapman said. “Open up and say, 'Ahh’`.''

Grudgingly, Rudyard opened wide his mouth and made an exaggerated “ahh” sound. Chapman swabbed the inside of Rudyard’s cheek. 

“You know,” he said, while he had Rudyard quiet for once, “I really am here for you, Rudyard. However this goes - whether she’s your daughter or not - it’s been a weird week. If you want to talk about it…”

Rudyard gagged in protest.

“... Or what-have-you, you know where to find me. There we go!”

Rudyard gasped for air, sputtering all the while.

“I don’t need your charity, Chapman,” he spat when he had enough air to speak. 

“No. Even if you did, I don’t think you’d accept it.”

Rudyard glowered.

“And, anyway, this isn’t charity. I just know what it’s like to have the whole village gossiping about you. It’s nice to have a few people you know you can trust, isn’t it?”

“I was accused of murder once,” Rudyard said. “I think I know what it’s like to have the whole village gossiping about me.”

“Yes. You never did tell me why you had a life-like dummy of me-”

“Thank you for the consideration, Chapman, but I’m sure I’ll be perfectly fine without talking to you about anything the village may or may not say about me.”

“What about Calliope, then?”

Rudyard cocked his head. His dark eyes searched Chapman in earnest. Chapman stuck the Q-tip into a vial and sighed. 

“She’s a child, Rudyard. I’m not an expert on children, but she’s lost her mum, gained a father, and I’m sure that even if you aren’t affected by local gossip, she’s going to hear all sorts of stuff at school and in scouts…”

Rudyard hadn’t considered that. He looked at the door. On the other side, in the waiting room, Calliope sat alone. He wondered if leaving her alone was a good thing to do or if they ought to close ranks as a family. 

“Right,” he said softly. 

“I won’t tell you how to parent a child that might not even be yours-”

“Then don’t.”

“- but maybe someone should. Do you have a plan for what comes next?”

“What did she tell you when she was in here?” Rudyard snapped. “Oh, you’d like to know what my plans are…!”

“So you do have plans. That’s a relief. For a moment I was worried you were going to, you know, project all of your anxiety about parenthood onto the business and all your grief onto your self-made rivalry with me. Good. Glad to see you have a plan. But if you need to talk…”

Rudyard hopped off the table.

“Yes, well, if I need to talk, I suppose that’s what I have Antigone for.” A skeptical pause. “All right. That’s what I have Georgie for. And Madeline, of course. And if it absolutely becomes necessary as a last resort sort of thing, I’ll give you a call. Thank you for the cheek swab, Chapman, let’s not do this again any time soon. Ring me with the results when you have them-”

“Well, hang on a minute. It’s a same-day result test. If you and Calliope just hang around in the waiting room, the machine will run the test and I can give you your answer. Maybe we can grab a coffee…?”

“No time, I’m afraid, Chapman. I have a client.”

“The woman who might be the mother of your child,” Chapman clarified. “Rudyard… don’t you think you ought to handle this particular funeral with a little more…”

“Speed? Efficiency?”

“Care.”

“God, you sound like Antigone. Cordelia didn’t leave instructions. Just a will that said for me to take Calliope in.”

“Right. But for Calliope’s sake…”

“She’s coping perfectly well.”

As they bickered, it dawned on Rudyard that Calliope sat alone in the waiting room. He fussed with his tie, looking at the door.

“Now, look here, Chapman. I would love to stay and argue with you, but for Calliope’s sake, I really should be off. Call me with the results when you have them.”

He walked from the room to find the waiting room empty. A note, written on the back of an old report card simply read: Going back to Funn Funerals. Don’t rush after me. Calliope. Rudyard studied the report card for any more clues or information, but only saw that she had done well in all of her classes last semester, but recieved a behavioral note that said: Must leave dead animals at home. Call for a parent-teacher conference. 

“I suppose I’ll take that coffee now,” Rudyard said wearily. 

“With cinnamon?” Chapman asked and Rudyard hated to admit that he was grateful.

Meanwhile, at Funn Funerals, Calliope descended the stairwell leading into the mortuary. She had never been inside Funn Funerals’ morturary - or any morturary - and the excitement that coursed through her veins made her think that the next school trip ought to be here instead of at Chapman’s water park. Very quietly, Calliope crept into the mortuary. The darkness of the place surprised her. Antigone must’ve been out because no one could possibly work in such low lighting. Calliope had always envisioned mortuaries as hospital-room-bright with a lot of stainless steel. Nothing prepared her for the archaic air of Antigone’s equipment. For a minute, Calliope studied a specimen of teeth in a jar, preserved, before her dark eyes alighted upon the table in the center of the room. Draped in a white modesty cloth, the corpse of Calliope’s mother lay outstretched on the embalming table. Calliope’s breath caught in her throat and she tiptoed towards the familiar form. One hand outstretched, she ached to touch her mother’s cheek, even if she knew it would be cold and unlike anything she remembered in life. She didn’t notice the pinpricks of tears gathering in her eyes until she heard a sneeze and a sharp, raspy voice call out -

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Calliope gasped. Blinking, a few tears escaped her eyes as she whirled around to see Antigone materialize from the shadows. How long had she been standing there? 

“I wanted to see the mortuary,” Calliope said guilily. Then, with more confidence, “It’s beautiful.”

“Do you think so?” Antigone suddenly seemed smaller and as if she vibrated with excitement. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? I’m so glad you think so.”

Silence settled around them, filled only by the hum of machines. Calliope looked around, eager to ask all sorts of questions about fluids and scalpels and embalming pumps. Instead, only one question tumbled out of her mouth.

“Is that my mother on the embalming table?” 

“It is,” Antigone said softly. “Is that why you really came down here?”

“Not entirely,” Calliope said, looking over at the table. “I’ve always wanted to be a mortician, ever since I knew what one was. Your mortuary really is beautiful.”

“Thank you. Most people find it an upsetting and gloomy place, especially when their mother is the one on the embalming table.”

“It’s peaceful,” Calliope said. She hesitated. Then asked, “May I see her?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Antigone said. “It may not feel so peaceful once you’ve been confronted by the mortality of someone you love. You may never know peace or sanity again.”

“Who embalmed your mother?”

“I did.”

“Then why can’t I look at mine?”

At a loss, Antigone put a hand on Calliope’s shoulder and the pair of them walked towards Cordelia Roach’s body. Antigone pulled the cloth covering Cordelia’s face back to reveal a meticulously preserved face. Calliope gasped and touched her mother’s cheek. Silent tears flowed from her eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Calliope.” Antigone squeezed Calliope’s shoulder in an imitation of a reassuring motion. Calliope nodded and pressed to Antigone’s side.

“You’ve done such a beautiful job,” Calliope murmured. “She looks just like she did before she got sick.”

:”Thank you. I went by the Piffling School Yearbook’s faculty page and…” Her voice broke. Calliope looked up at her. “I subtracted what I see of Rudyard in your face for the rest. And based on how he used to describe your mother-”

New tears began to flow from Calliope’s eyes and she stifled a sob.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Antigone fretted. “I didn’t think that would upset you so much, but of course it would…! I don’t know the first thing about children-!”

“It’s fine,” Calliope said, pressing her wet eyes into Antigone’s side. “I just… I wish someone had told Mr. Funn about me a long time ago. Maybe… Maybe the first body you showed me down here would have been someone else besides my mother.”

Back at Chapman’s, Chapman reviewed the documents the computer printed out. They were old-fashioned - Pifflng Vale really had never run a paternity test before. Then, once certain of the results, looked up at Rudyard with a smile.

“Congratulations, Rudyard. It’s a girl.”

And even though Rudyard had fully expected the news, he collapsed into the nearest chair and did not move for so long that Chapman called Georgie to come and fetch him.

“Cheer up, sir,” Georgie said, sitting beside him. “Cal’s a great kid. Smart, self-reliant, confident... I feel like I should bake you a cake or buy you a tall glass of milk to celebrate.”

“Did you know she’s known for four years?” Rudyard lamented. “Calliope has known for four years and Cordelia never told me, not even once, in the last eleven…”

“She must’ve had a good reason for that,” Chapman said brightly. Georgie glared at him. “Sorry, just trying to be helpful.”

“Yeah, don’t,” Georgie said. She put a hand on Rudyard’s back. “But maybe she had a good reason not to tell you.”

“Besides the fact that I’m utterly ill-equipped to be a father? I doubt it.” 

“If I may-”

“Eric, no,” Georgie said sternly. She glowered at Chapman who did his best to glower back. 

“ _If I may_ ,” he repeated, “maybe you weren’t equipped to be a father eleven years ago. But surely things have changed since…!” 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, everything has changed. Since then I’ve been run out of town by two separate, angry mobs, lost my seat on the village council, and my family business has been in the red since the arrival of a new funeral home. You were saying, Chapman?”

“I told you not to,” Georgie said to Chapman. Then, to Rudyard, she said, “But you do care about Calliope and she does solve your ‘legacy problem’. That’s gotta count for somethin’.” 

“I suppose it counts for something,” Rudyard said, sighing, “but not everything. There’s no guarantee that I’ll be a good father.”

“Well, that’s never a guarantee,” Georgie said. “But you’ll try to be.”

“And there’s nobody on Piffling that tries harder than you, Rudyard,” Chapman said. Georgie again glowered at him and Rudyard stared at him in bafflement. “Er, right, sorry. Just felt someone ought to say it.” 

And even though no one wanted Chapman to be the one to say it, Rudyard and Georgie had to contend that he had a point.


	4. In Which Rudyard Confronts Gossip and Gets Unexpected Advice

News of Calliope’s paternity spread through the village like wildfire once Reverend Wavering found out. This was, perhaps, the third-biggest scandal of which Rudyard Funn had been the at the heart. However, for the first time since Rudyard began causing scandals in Piffling Vale, violence did not hallmark this one. Still, Rudyard half-expected an angry mob to run him and his newfound daughter out of the village at any moment. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Rudyard,” Georgie said that afternoon when he confessed this worry as they sanded down Cordelia’s coffin in the workshop. “At worst, they’re gonna ask you inappropriate questions or give you parenting advice...”

“Yes, thank you, Georgie.”

“... Or tell you they don’t see the resemblance or call you a deadbeat.”

“Yes, thank you for rehashing my morning,” Rudyard said. 

He put his strip of sandpaper aside and looked over at Georgie. She lowered her power tools. Then, shrugging, Georgie went for the broom and dustpan. 

“Cal seems to be adjustin’ all right,” she said.

“Don’t think I’m not still angry with the two of you.”

“Oh, bloody hell, Rudyard.” Georgie sighed. “She’s had just as long a day as you have. Give it a rest, yeah?”

Rudyard puckered his lips and resumed sanding. Georgie was right, of course, though he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. This morning had been strange. As he shuffled downstairs, he’d heard sounds coming from the kitchen and found his daughter had dismantled and was reassembling the toaster at six-thirty in the morning. 

“Oh, hello, Mr. Funn,” she said, looking up long enough to wave. 

“Calliope, it’s six-thirty in the morning,” Rudyard said. “What are you-?”

“Toaster’s broken.”

“Yes. We can’t get a new one until we’ve finished making payments on the kettle.”

“You won’t need to get a new one. I’ll fix it, make us breakfast, and go to school.”

“School?”

“Term hasn’t ended yet,” she said. “And I’ve already missed a few days. I need you to sign a note-”

“Note?”

“About Mum’s funeral, asking for time off so I can help with the preparations and attend the ceremony.”

“Calliope,” Rudyard said, shuffling to the refrigerator for butter, “No one expects you to help with the preparations.”

“Why’s that?” Calliope asked. She screwed the side of the toaster back into place. “If I’m going to learn to be a funeral director, shouldn’t I be getting all the experience I can?”

“Yes, well-”

“You said ‘yes’ first. Remember that.”

“Now, look here, Calliope, you should be allowed to mourn decently. No child should be expected to bury their parents so young.”

“Didn’t you?”

“It was different.”

“Not very.”

“I was eighteen and you’re ten.” A pause. “And there was no one else to do it for me.”

“Auntigone embalmed your parents,” Calliope said.

 _Auntigone?_ Rudyard thought, blinking. When had Calliope given Antigone a cute and affectionate nickname? Maybe he’d misheard her. After all, she still called him “Mr. Funn.” Rudyard cleared his throat. 

“Yes, well,” he said, “look how she’s turned out!”

“She’s fantastic.” Calliope plugged the repaired toaster in. “I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“You might want to reconsider that.” 

As they ate their toast, Calliope slipped him a note she’d written and a pen. Rudyard read over it. It articulated why Calliope had not been at school in the clearest of terms and asked for an additional date off for the funeral. However, Calliope had left that date blank.

“When are you doing Mum’s funeral?” she asked as Rudyard read. “I don’t mean to rush you. Does it always take this long?”

“I don’t know what you expected,” Rudyard muttered, mouth half-full. 

“Mum said she fell in love with you because you were the most efficient man she’d ever met.”

Rudyard choked on his toast. 

“Efficient and thorough,” she continued. “She also said that she liked how you didn’t care what anyone thought of you and that she was glad I got that from you, but that bit was always a toss-up whether it meant she thought you were a bastard or someone to admire, you know?”

Rudyard pounded on his chest to dislodge the chunk of toast he wheezed around. 

“Mr. Funn, if you need me to perform CPR, please nod your head. I _am_ certified.”

Rudyard sputtered and shook his head, finally getting ahold of himself. Six forty-five in the morning was far too early to come to grips with the idea that Cordelia Roach had actually loved him at some point or another and had told their daughter as much without ever having told Rudyard. He rose and set about making tea for the morning. Maybe he just needed a good jolt of caffeine to handle the day. Surely, he’d thought, nothing could be harder to deal with than this. He signed Calliope’s note and wrote the tentative funeral date in the blank and after dressing properly for the day, he offered to walk her to school. 

“I know how to get there,” Calliope said, zipping up her backpack. 

“Right,” Rudyard said. “It just… Well, given the circumstances…”

“Is it because of the funeral? Mr. Funn, Mum didn’t walk me to school,” Calliope told him. “You don’t have to.”

“That’s just it, though. I _want_ to walk you to school,” Rudyard said. “Isn’t that the sort of things fathers should do for their daughters?”

“I dunno,” Calliope said. “My father has never walked me to school before.”

She clearly found her joke much funnier than Rudyard did. He sucked in his cheeks and watched as horror overtook mirth on Calliope’s face.

“Sorry,” she said. “Mr. Funn, I didn’t mean… I just meant… only… Well, I don’t know what fathers and daughters do. Did your father walk Auntigone to school?”

There it was again: “Mr. Funn” and “Auntigone”. Rudyard swallowed hard.

“No. As a matter of fact, he didn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Although, my father might not be the best yardstick to measure fatherhood against.” 

“I mean, if you would _like_ to walk me to school…”

“It’s fine-”

“No, I mean, I would like you to. It might be nice.”

And so that was how, sullenly, father and daughter ventured forth from Funn Funerals to walk towards Piffling School. No sooner than they’d walked down the front steps had they been greeted by Chapman. Chapman waved. Gritting his teeth, Rudyard raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Where are you off to today?” Chapman asked. “Taking Calliope to the flower market this morning?”

“Mr. Funn is taking me to school.”

“I see! Blimey, this is the kind of thing for a scrapbook, isn’t it?”

“I hate scrapbooking,” Rudyard said. 

Chapman, not listening, pulled his cellphone out of his pocket and held it up. Rudyard assumed a defensive stance.

“Relax, Rudyard,” Chapman said, laughing. “I just want to get a quick picture of the two of you.”

“Why? What for?”

“For you,” Chapman said. “I just thought it might be something you’d want to commemorate. Most parents have ‘first day of school’ pictures with their kids and, well… Get close and say cheese!”

Hesitantly, Rudyard put an arm around Calliope’s shoulders. Why was Chapman doing something nice for him? He’d been here every step of the way, inserting himself into Rudyard’s business. 

“Could you maybe smile a bit more, Rudyard? Calliope?”

Some pictures were taken and Chapman seemed pleased with a few because he promised to print them and bring them around in the afternoon. They said their goodbyes, Chapman told Calliope to enjoy school, and Rudyard wheeled his daughter down the pavement in the general direction of the school. This was a path he’d walked a thousand times before. Even if it had been a number of years, Rudyard still knew the way to the only school on Piffling by heart. He’d walked his sister this way, carefully dodging other children so she wouldn’t have an allergic reaction. Now, he felt as though he was dodging a different sort of obstacle as other residents of Piffling Vale popped out of their homes to go to work or school and eyed him with vague suspicion. Ignoring them, Rudyard and Calliope took turns pointing out favorite places along the island: the cemetery he’d done a hundred funerals in, the cliffs she dreamt of rappelling down one day when they stopped trying to put a cafe there, the Broken Tooth where they both liked to get fizzy sweets. If Antigone had been a braver child or Rudyard a more pleasant one, perhaps this was how they’d have been: just like Calliope. That’d be Cordelia’s doing. Rudyard hadn’t shaken the revelation that Cordelia Roach might actually have loved him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She’d been so interesting and bright and he had cared for her, but it was so long ago, Rudyard couldn’t be certain how he felt about it now or how they would have felt if he hadn’t left the morning after. He would never know if, after years, they’d grow to quietly resent each other or loudly bicker over the newspaper and tea every morning. He never thought he’d regret not knowing. He didn’t even know if he regretted not knowing, not exploring a relationship with Cordelia, or if he regretted most of all not having known about Calliope, not being a good father and now being too late to be of much use. She talked animatedly about pet funerals. 

“Mum stopped letting me have pets,” she said, a little wistfully. “Do you think we could get a pet? I know you have that mouse…”

“Madeline isn’t a pet,” Rudyard said. “Madeline is a best-selling author.”

“Oh.” Calliope sounded both impressed and disappointed. “Maybe a dog? I think children ought to have dogs at my age.”

“Madeline wouldn’t like it if we got a dog,” he said. “And Georgie won’t let me.”

“Aren’t you Georgie’s boss? Couldn’t you just do whatever you pleased and tell her to mind her business?”

“That’s not how it works.” Rudyard blew out a long breath. “Georgie is... She’s more like family than an assistant.”

“If Auntigone told you you weren’t allowed to have pets, would you listen?”

“No, and if I was lucky, I’d live to regret it.”

Calliope laughed and covered her mouth. Rudyard smiled slowly. He hadn’t expected her to laugh or that being laughed at might inspire warmth to spread across his chest. He stared at his daughter and considered telling her about the types of threats her “Auntigone” made against him on a regular basis. Some of them, when you weren’t the object of her rage, were rather funny… but then again, Calliope would soon have front-row seats to her aunt and father’s bickering. She’d know soon enough. And maybe she would laugh like she did now; maybe she’d be horrified. Rudyard didn’t know, but it would be worth finding out one day. The schoolhouse, all brick and ivy like a proper school ought to be, came into view through the mist. That place had given Rudyard a decent enough education and a distinct loathing of human society. What had changed over the years? Anything? What was Calliope like in school?

“Do you like school very much?” he asked her, perhaps a little abruptly.

Calliope rolled her shoulders.

“I’m good at school,” she said. “But ‘like’ is a strong word.”

“That’s more than fair,” Rudyard said. “I just don’t want to drop you off at prison or something. I always hated school. I liked the learning well enough, but the other children…”

“I’m allergic to other children,” Calliope said. “I take allergy tablets every night before bed and carry an inhaler for emergencies, like birthday parties.”

“I see.”

“Not that I’ve ever _been_ to a birthday party,” she said quickly. “I mean, I’ve been invited to Douglas’ end of term party at Chapman’s when school lets out for the summer. That’s kind of like a birthday party, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Rudyard said. “I’ve never been invited to a party unless you count Reverend Wavering and Mayor Desmond’s wedding.”

“You brought rice in a pot,” Calliope said. “I was leading bassoon patrol for the music, but I heard you drop it.”

“Yes.” Rudyard’s ears burned a little. 

“It was a nice thought,” she said, patting his arm. “Cooked rice is more useful than throwing uncooked rice.”

“That was my thinking.”

“Should I bring rice to Douglas’ party?” she asked. “Or a gift?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he said. “I really ought to let you go to school.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help with Mum’s funeral?” Calliope asked. “Not counting suspensions, I’ve never missed a day of school until now. I could take a few more days off to help…”

“I..? Calliope… Suspensions?”

“Don’t look at me like that! I’m sure you and Auntigone buried dead animals in the school playground when you were my age.”

Rudyard sighed. He didn’t want to think of the things he and Antigone had done at Calliope’s age. Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and marched her towards the gates. 

“Now, look here, Calliope.” he said, “you’re going to go to class today and you’re going to have a good day and I will see you after school. Do you want someone to come and pick you up?”

“Only if it’s Georgie with the mo-ped,” she said. “Don’t worry, Mr. Funn. I can find my way home.”

“Right, good.” Rudyard released her. “Then I will see you at four o’clock.”

They stared at each other for a moment and Rudyard tried to determine what to do about saying goodbye. He would see her at four o’clock, but Rudyard wasn’t sure if he ought to hug Calliope or kiss her cheek or not push his luck at all and let his newfound daughter skulk off to school while he went to the flower market. He squeezed Calliope’s shoulder fondly. It seemed a good compromise. 

“Have a good day,” he said, voice softer than before. “Four o’clock.”

“I won’t forget,” Calliope said. “Four o’clock.”

And with that she fell from Rudyard’s grasp and walked through the gates of Piffling School. Rudyard stood on the sidewalk a moment longer before trudging back towards the marketplace. It lazily thrummed with life, as much of Piffling did at eight o’clock in the morning. Shopkeepers switched their signs to “Open” and Rudyard took a deep breath before braving Petunia Bloom’s florist shop. He expected to see Chapman there and was unsurprised to see him mulling over some roses. Rudyard tried to ignore him and hoped that, in turn, he would be ignored.

This plan did not work.

As Petunia Bloom popped out from the back of the shop, a huge spray of flowers in her arms, she squawked cheerfully through the petals and greenery.

“Here you are, Mister Chapman!” she crowed. “Your special order. I wonder who's the lucky lady?”

Rudyard looked over at them and caught Chapman’s eye. He would have sworn that his rival tinged pink. 

“I’ll come back for it,” he said. “Really, Petunia, it’s lovely. I just remembered that I left my wallet… somewhere.”

“You’re holdin’ it,” Petunia said.

“Oh! So I am! I… ah… Hello, Rudyard!”

Rudyard cringed at being seen. 

“Chapman,” he said, not nearly with as much venom as usual, but with enough exhaustion that he hoped Chapman understood that he only wanted to look at the flowers in peace. 

“Rudyard Funn,” Petunia said. She set Chapman’s bouquet of flowers down on the counter. “I was wonderin’ when you’d show your face in public again.”

“It’s been two days,” Rudyard said flatly. 

“So, how’s it feel, bein’ a new father?” Petunia asked. She moved away from Chapman’s flowers and leaned against the counter. Her eyes narrowed, her smile widened, scrutinizing him in ways Rudyard wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with. “Always knew ya had it in ya. And with Cordelia Roach! It’s a shame she’s dead now. You two woulda made quite the pair.”

A twinge in Rudyard’s chest made him frown. 

“Actually, I’m here to get flowers for the funeral-”

“Of course, Sid says there’s no way that test was accurate. No offense meant, Mister Chapman, I’m sure you did a most proper job runnin’ it, but that machine is old and never been used. Coulda been a false positive - I know I’ve had those scares before!”

She laughed raucously. Rudyard looked at Chapman and then at his own shoes. Chapman looked just as embarrassed as Rudyard felt. Fiddling with his tie, Rudyard cleared his throat.

“Now, look here, Miss Bloom, I’m here to buy some flowers,” he said, looking up. “For Cordelia’s funeral. I was wondering if you had any recommendations for what bouquets might be suitable, given the circumstances, which it seems Mr. Chapman has apprised you of…”

“Now, hang on-”

“Don’t go blamin’ Mister Chapman for your indiscretions,” Petunia chastised. “Besides, I heard about it all from Agatha Doyle.”

“Agatha knows?” Rudyard sputtered. “Who else knows?”

“I’d reckon the whole island by this point,” Petunia said. “Which reminds me… Sid wants an interview with you for tomorrow’s paper... “

“Now, look here-!”

“I know. I told ‘im you’d probably want royalties, especially now that you’ve got a child to support.”

“Petunia,” Chapman said gently, “maybe you could ask Rudyard about this some other time? I think he’s just here to buy flowers.”

“Oh, right you are! I just get so caught up in the excitement of it all that I forget myself. What can I do for you, Mr. Funn?”

“I need the best bouquet I can get for this-” he placed some money on the counter “- Something appropriate for the mother of my child, but that isn’t overly sentimental. Or expensive.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Petunia said, clicking her tongue. “We’ll see what I can do for you. Come back this afternoon.”

Knowing his cue, Rudyard slipped out the door and onto the streets. The sound of footsteps behind him didn’t startle him so much as they caused his shoulders to tense. Why was it that Chapman was everywhere Rudyard turned these days? Didn’t he have better things to do that dog Rudyard’s steps? 

“I am so sorry about Petunia,” Chapman said. “She was out of line-”

“She’s not your responsibility, Chapman,” Rudyard said. “I’m sure she would have been even more invasive if you hadn’t been there. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

“I mean, you’re welcome, but I didn’t do anything.”

Rudyard sighed. 

“Come on,” Chapman said, putting a hand on Rudyard’s shoulder, “let’s get a coffee.”

This marked the second time Rudyard found himself in Chapman’s cafe in the last three days. He slumped into a booth across from Chapman and stared at the foam on his latte miserably. Unlike the last time they had been here, Chapman’s Cafe was packed. Conversations buzzed around them. However, every so often, Rudyard caught a pair of eyes watching them. He hugged his cup between his hands. 

“So, how was the walk to school?” Chapman asked brightly.

“Oh, you know,” Rudyard said vaguely.

“I don’t, actually. That’s why I’m asking.”

Rudyard sighed. 

“I don’t know why you’re so interested,” he said. “I won’t let you live vicariously through me, you know.”

Chapman deflated. He set his coffee back on its saucer and stared, blinking. 

“Right, no, I didn’t think- I wasn’t trying to-”

“Then what are you doing, Chapman?” Rudyard asked. “Ever since Cordelia died you’ve been… Well, you’re always _nice_ to me, but _nicer_ than normal.”

“You've become a single dad overnight. It’s a big life change, Rudyard,” Chapman said softly. “And I know you don’t feel the same way, but you’re the closest thing I have to a friend on the island and if there is any way I can help out, I want to.”

“Friend?”

“Like I said, I know you don’t feel the same way,” Chapman said. “And if I’m a little envious…”

“A-ha!”

“Oh, come off it, Rudyard, I wasn’t hiding it,” Chapman said. “I always wanted to be a dad. And here you are, overnight, instant family…”

“Instant child, not instant family,” Rudyard said quickly. “I have a family. I have Antigone.”

“Yes, and I suppose I’m a bit jealous of that as well. It gets lonely on this side of the square. And no matter what’s happened in the last two years, you’ve always had Antigone and Georgie and now you have a daughter and I guess… I don’t know…”

“What? That I don’t deserve either of them?”

“What? No! I just wish I was a part of it. I always have.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s miserable,” Rudyard said, somewhat cheerfully. “All the bickering and fighting and death threats…”

“Is that really what having a sibling is like?”

“Oh, yes.” Rudyard took a sip from his latte. “It only doubled when Georgie came along. And that’s the part about families I know how to handle. I haven’t the first clue about being a father…”

“Is it terrifying?”

“Extremely. I’ve missed so much of her life already and I keep wondering ‘what if I cock up this part of her life by being there’?”

“Gosh, I’d think it would be exhilarating. A brand new adventure, uncharted territories.”

“Did you have a father growing up, Chapman? There was nothing about my relationship with my father that I would describe as ‘exhilarating’.” 

Chapman laughed uncomfortably and drank from his own cup of coffee. 

“I guess, I’d want to make that up to the universe if I were you,” he said. “We can’t all be bound by the sins of our fathers.”

“God, I hope not,” Rudyard said. “Otherwise Calliope is shackled to a blood feud with your future children one day and I wouldn’t wish that on her.”

Chapman laughed, more comfortably this time.

“What’s it like?” he asked. “Did you know the moment you saw her that she was your daughter? Do you love her in ways you can’t possibly describe?”

“I… well… She still calls me “Mr. Funn”.”

“Oh… Blimey.”

Rudyard “hmm’d” softly. He took another swig from his coffee mug. 

“But she and Antigone - or should I say ‘Auntigone’ - are getting along just swimmingly.”

“‘Auntigone’?” 

“That’s what Calliope calls Antigone.”

Silence settled over the table again. Chapman looked at Rudyard softly, leaving Rudyard to determine whether such a look was pity or kindness. Before he could decide which of the two it was and just how he felt about it, someone called Chapman’s name. 

“There you are, Chappers!” Lady Vivienne Templar crowed as she walked over to the table. She pressed her palms against the surface as she leaned towards Chapman. “I have the most delicious bit of gossip for you. Have you heard that that horrible man from across the square-”

“Hello, Lady Templar,” Rudyard said. 

Lady Templar jumped. Then, laughing she looked at Rudyard and then back at Chapman.

“Getting our gossip straight from the horse’s mouth? I say, Chappers, you really are a genius. So, then, has he told you all about it?”

“All about what?” Chapman asked.

Lady Templar put a hand on Chapman’s shoulder.

“Oh, nothing I can’t fill you in on later,” she said, smoothing the fabric of Chapman’s jacket. “Maybe over a few drinks…? Or coffee?”

“I’m already having coffee with Rudyard,” Chapman said. “Maybe another time, VIv.”

“Well, why don’t I join you?” she asked, squeezing into the booth beside Chapman without invitation. Her sugar-free cappuccino sloshed as she did. “I might follow your lead and interrogate him myself.”

As Chapman sopped up coffee with a napkin, Lady Templar leaned across the table. Her good eye glittered with excitement and it was not a look Rudyard enjoyed being subjected to. 

“So, are the rumors true, then?” she asked him. “Is that odd little girl really your daughter?” 

“I don’t know which ‘odd little girl’ you mean, but if you mean Calliope, then _yes_.”

Lady Templar gasped. Rudyard got the impression she’d been practicing that gasp in front of a mirror. 

“So then it is true-”

“Leave him alone, Vivienne-”

“- that Rudyard Funn is a deadbeat father!”

“I beg your pardon?” Rudyard sputtered.

“Rudyard, don’t give her the satisfaction. Vivienne, Rudyard has had a very difficult few days-”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Chappers. He’s known the whole time that this ‘Calliope’ was his daughter. He’s only upset because the courts have finally caught up to him. Is it true you haven’t paid child support in ten years?”

“Child support?”

“Vivienne, Calliope’s mother is dead. There’s no one for Rudyard _to_ pay child support to.”

“But he wasn’t involved in the girl’s life until now. If it isn’t the courts catching up to him, why does he suddenly have an interest in his daughter?”

“It isn’t sudden,” Rudyard said. “We met on a scouting trip a few months ago.”

“So you knew she was your daughter? Fascinating.”

“No, I didn’t know and if I had, what business of yours is it?” Rudyard rose from the table. “Chapman, thank you for the coffee, but I have a funeral to plan.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Funn?” Lady Templar leapt to her feet. 

“Rudyard Funn is threatening Lady Templar!” someone shouted. 

“No, he isn’t!” Chapman shouted back. “He’s had a very long week!”

“- making a scene like this in broad daylight! It’s lucky his daughter isn’t here to see!”

“If she’s really his daughter! My money is still on the traveling clavichord salesman…”

People began chattering about their wildest speculations over Rudyard, Calliope, and the paternity test and while they were all arguing amongst themselves, Rudyard ducked out of the cafe, took the lift down, and didn’t breathe until he stepped outside of Chapman’s. He trudged along the familiar streets and even though it was only 10 o’clock in the morning, heaved into Agatha Doyle’s sweet shop, The Broken Tooth. After she made him read the obligatory signs about the dangers of consuming sweets, the constable turned confectioner eyed Rudyard carefully.

“You look like you could use a pick-me-up,” she said. “Sherbet fountain?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rudyard said. He shelled out some cash and slid it to her. “What can I get for this?”

“Our Blond Supremes are on sale this week.”

“Of course they are,” Rudyard grumbled. 

“Mr. Funn, I don’t mean to pry, but you seem out of sorts. Not quite yourself.”

“I wonder what I seem like when I’m ‘in sorts’, then,” Rudyard grumbled. “Sorry, Ms. Doyle.”

“I know what’s got you down,” Agatha said, pulling down an unopened case of sherbet fountains and sliding them between herself and Rudyard. “Parenthood isn’t easy.”

“Have you got children, Ms. Doyle?”

“Goodness no! But I do have three nephews. Children can be quite the taxing little devils.”

“In my experience, children love their aunts,” Rudyard said, eyeing the sherbet fountains. “Possibly more than they love their fathers.”

“Well, there is the touch of the novel about aunts and uncles that parents just don’t have,” said Agatha. “When I would visit my nephews - they’re all grown now - they knew I’d be bringing sweets and that we would do the sorts of things their parents wouldn’t approve of - nothing illegal, though, you understand…”

“Do you think that’s what Antigone’s doing?” Rudyard asked. “Undermining me by plying Calliope with sweets and dubious activities?”

“Well, your sister hasn’t been in to see me, so I wouldn’t accuse her of bribing your daughter with sweets just yet. But if when you say _dubious activity_ … Is there something your sister and your daughter might have in common that you don’t?”

And so, ten minutes later, armed with sherbet fountains and unbridled rage, Rudyard burst into Funn Funerals.

“You’ve let Calliope into the mortuary!” he shouted, throwing open the mortuary door.

“Get out of here, Rudyard!” Antigone hissed. “You’re not allowed down here!”

“But Calliope is, isn’t she? You’ve been letting her help out!”

“You don’t have any proof!”

“I have deductive reasoning! Calliope suddenly likes you better than she likes me and she keeps asking to be involved in the funeral process!”

“I let her down here _once_ Rudyard.” Antigone ascended the steps so she could properly glower at her brother. “You’re the one who made her our apprentice!”

“That’s not the point! You undermined my authority as a parent-”

“What authority? You’ve been a parent for three days!”

Rudyard struggled for words when the bell rang, signaling someone’s entrance into Funn Funerals. Georgie popped her head down the hallway. 

“I ran into Petunia Bloom on my way over,” she said. “She says she’ll bring your bouquets by tomorrow, Rudyard.”

“Georgie, we’re in the middle of something right now,” Rudyard said.

“Yeah, but you’ll be done screamin’ at each other by then, right?”

Georgie sounded hopeful, though Rudyard was sure it was false hope. When had he and Antigone ever been done screaming at each other?

"Antigone has been letting Calliope into the mortuary," Rudyard said.

"Yeah," Georgie said. "She likes all that stuff - bodies and fluids and everythin'. Isn't that why you made her your apprentice?"

"You _knew_?" Rudyard wheeled around on Georgie.

"Yeah. Antigone and I talked about it afterward. We agreed it's probably a good thing to let Calliope grieve in her own way and learn the ropes in the process."

"So you two are plotting against me now?" Rudyard looked between them. "I have never been more betrayed in my life!"

Georgie and Antigone exchanged glances and un-heaved sighs. 

“The funeral’s in two days and we gotta finish buildin’ the coffin," Georgie said, taking his wrist. "C’mon, sir.”

“This isn’t over,” Rudyard said to Antigone before following Georgie into the coffin workshop. 

As they talked and sanded and nailed the coffin together, he began to feel just a little better - at least a little more normal. He recounted the day’s events to Georgie and Georgie listened. Rudyard expected her to say she hadn’t been paying attention at some point, but instead, when he finished telling her about Chapman and Lady Templar and Agatha Doyle, Georgie sighed and hauled out buckets of veneer. She handed Rudyard a brush.

“Look, I’m not gonna tell you how to be a parent,” Georgie said. “There’s a reason I was raised by Nana. All I’m gonna say is maybe the people who say it takes a village to raise a child were onto somethin’.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Georgie. I know how you feel about platitudes.”

“Yeah, but I also know that Antigone can teach her things that you can’t and you can show her things that Antigone doesn’t know anything about and then you’ve got me-”

“Speaking of which, you’re supposed to pick Calliope up from school at four. Bring the mo-ped.”

“See? That’s what I’m talkin’ about. We’ll get through this together. And, I mean, she has just lost her mum. Has anyone talked to her about it?”

“None of us are licensed grief counselors.”

Georgie sighed and began to brush veneer on her side of the coffin. Eyeing her warily, Rudyard began to do the same.

“You’re still probably the best one for her to talk to,” Georgie said, grimacing. Rudyard hoped it was at her veneering but knew that it was probably at him. Georgie was great at veneering coffins. “I mean, you had a relationship with her mother.”

“That was years ago,” Rudyard said. “It didn’t end well.”

“Don’t tell Calliope that,” Georgie said. “Kids like to think they’re the result of true love or somethin’ like that. Probably.”

“Calliope told me this morning that Cordelia had been in love with me,” Rudyard said miserably. “I don’t understand why no one ever told me. After… Well, _after_ , I didn’t handle everything so well. I kept thinking about the million ways I would disappoint her eventually and she would leave me. I tried to make something of myself after that - got a seat on the village council, restructured the village budget - but she didn’t notice and I was mostly fine with her not noticing. I stopped noticing her for a while. Business was better then than it is now and I was working on a ban on all village fetes and… The next time I saw her, she was…”

“Pregnant?”

“Well, _yes_ , but how was I supposed to know that? She was furious with me. She said she had half a mind to ban me from the music shop and so I started maintaining my instruments from home. We didn’t speak much after and when I saw her a few months later, she had a child and I just assumed she’d moved on. Do you really think she was in love with me until she died?”

“Does it make you feel better to think that she was?”

Rudyard made a noncommittal sound.

“Rudyard…”

“It’s _flattering_ ,” he said at long last. “But I… I can’t say I felt the same way. We were good friends and I might have fancied her, but I didn’t enjoy… _you know._ The intimacy of it all. Not like I thought I was supposed to. And I just remember thinking that she deserved someone who could make her happy.``

“You don’t need to have that conversation with Cal,” Georgie said. “I dunno if you needed to have that conversation with me. Just… tell her her mum was a wonderful person.”

“Oh, she was,” Rudyard said, smiling softly as he returned to veneering his side of the coffin. “She was a genius when it came to music - could play eleven instruments and sing operatic mezzo-soprano. And she’d been everywhere. I don’t know why she stayed in Piffling. I wish I could ask her.”

“Maybe you could,” Georgie said. Then, grinning, added, “Have another one of your terrible seances. Maybe Chapman will turn up, dressed as Cordelia’s ghost.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“You’re right. You might upset a real spirit and summon a poltergeist.”

Rudyard sighed. Then, he remembered a purple envelope, which now sat atop his dresser. He looked up at Georgie.

“She wrote me a letter,” he said. “I haven’t read it yet. It might be nothing but…”

“It might be somethin’,” Georgie agreed. “I’ll finish up here. I usually get these done faster without you anyway.”

“Thanks, Georgie.”

“Yeah. I’ll pick Cal up at four. You go read that letter.”

Rudyard tossed his paintbrush aside and scrambled out of the coffin workshop, up the stairs, and to his room. He didn’t expect the letter to have all the answers, but with the funeral only two days away, he was getting quite desperate for any answer at all, even one that came from beyond the grave. 


	5. In Which Rudyard Learns About Love

Rudyard raced up the creaky stairs and tumbled into his bedroom. Heart racing, he glanced at his dresser to see the purple envelope sitting beside his book on the history of the funerary practice, which he’d been calling “light reading” for several months. Then, slowly, as if afraid to startle the letter out of existence, he approached it. His shaking hands plucked it up and he opened it, where it appeared to have been resealed several times.

_Dear Rudyard,_

_It must feel strange to read this and to see me address you as “dear”, even after all this time. It doesn’t feel strange to write, though, except knowing that by the time you read this version of this letter, I will likely be dead. That sounds dramatic, but it’s true. I’ve been sick for a long while and Dr. Edgeware has assured me it’s terminal. It’s times like these I wish you and I had kept in touch, if not because I want someone to sit with during all this, then because I would want someone to sit with our daughter during all this. Hopefully, by the time you read this, you will have read my will and know that Calliope is our daughter. I’m sure the incompetent Piffling court system will subject you to a paternity test, but you were the first and last man I was ever with. Calliope knows that. In fact, she’s known you are her father for years._

_I know I should have told you sooner, but I was angry and scared and confused. Some of it was because you left. I remember waking up to an empty bed and wondering if you left because I hadn’t been good enough. Over the next few weeks, I came to a realization that regardless of whether I was good enough or you were good enough, it didn’t matter. I had never been with anyone and, having experienced it, I realized that I would only ever do so again if I planned to have a child. I’ve made peace with it - and I’ve long suspected you're the same way. If that’s true, I hope it brings you as much comfort as it brings me to know that you and I were each other’s firsts and that you were my last. Our time together was precious to me - it taught me about myself and about relationships and that I never needed a partner to feel whole, but that I was always thankful to explore the idea with someone who, I think, was very much like me. Sometimes, I wish we had talked like civilized adults about it all - especially after I found out I was pregnant with Calliope - because we could have stayed friends. I might have even asked you to marry me so that our daughter grew up knowing her father. I don’t know if you would have said yes, and now I never will._

_Calliope thinks that I love you and in my way, I suppose I do and always will, but it’s not the great romance she has built in her head. Don’t shatter that for her just yet. If she ever struggles with her sexuality, then might be a good time to share, but she’s only ten now and by the time you read all of this, I’ll probably be dead and she will be grieving. Please don’t tell her any of this just yet. Just be there for our daughter._

_She’s a marvel, Rudyard. She’s so much more capable than I was at her age… mature, smart, rebellious. She’s utterly macabre and delightful and sometimes it surprises me that you didn’t have a hand in raising her. I regret not telling you sooner. I tried - I wanted to - but I don’t blame you for not understanding. I should have taken you out to the Cliffside Cafe, when it was still open, and told you the truth. I think she would have benefitted from having both her parents. I don’t think we’ll ever know. What I do know is that I am confident in leaving her in your care - and you in hers. Over the last few years, I know you’ve gotten into some tight spots with the law - I wrote to you when you were in prison but never got to give you that letter - but I also know you are a good man. You’re a hard worker, who cares about the people in his life, and who will understand our quirky child in ways others wouldn’t. Please take the time to get to know her. She already idolizes you. When she came home from the scouting trip with you, I knew that she’d be loved. You will love her, won’t you? I love her so much. She’s been the best part of my life. Thank you for giving me her; it’s your turn to have her._

_I have requested specifically for Funn Funerals to do my service, in part because I hope that it will give you and Calliope a chance to bond before I am laid to rest. Let her help with what you think she can handle, but please also know that she tends to think she can handle more than a ten-year-old should. Just be there for her._

_I have left everything to Calliope in my will and I expect that she will inherit the house and all my belongings. However, there is a box in my closet with your name on it. Inside are letters I’ve composed with my thoughts on different milestones Calliope will encounter once I’ve gone - first love, first heartbreak, puberty, finishing school - categorized as chronologically as I could manage. If you find yourself in need of a co-parent or if Calliope needs her mother’s words, they’re there for you. Funnily, though, I don’t think you will need them. Antigone and Georgie are remarkable women and I am grateful that they will be helping you raise our daughter. I think between the three of you, you will raise a young woman to be proud of._

_Give Calliope my love._

_Yours,_

_Cordelia_

Rudyard backed into the foot of his bed and sank down on the edge of the mattress, rereading Cordelia’s words. For the first time in days, he felt calm and resolved. And for the first time in days, he could feel tears work their way up to his eyes. He reread the letter several times and took a stress nap. When he awoke, the funeral parlor was silent and it was five o’clock. He checked the bedrooms and all over, but neither Calliope nor Georgie was anywhere to be found. Rudyard rushed to the telephone and dialed Agatha Doyle’s number.

“Now, look here, Agatha,” he said. “I’d like to report a missing person’s case…”

Meanwhile, just outside The Broken Tooth, laughing over ice creams, Georgie and Calliope finally began their journey home.

“Can you teach me how to bungee jump?” Calliope asked eagerly, looking over her double-scoop of rocky road. “And jet-ski?”

“Oh, yeah,” Georgie said. “I’m great at teachin’ kids how to do extreme sports. But are you sure your dad will be okay with it?”

“What Mr. Funn doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Calliope said. “He doesn’t know I’ve been helping in the mortuary.”

“Actually, Cal… He knows,” Georgie said, lowering her ice cream cone a little. “He’s not too happy about it.”

“Why did you tell him?” Calliope asked. “Auntigone was going to let me help do Mum’s makeup tomorrow!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell him. He figured it out. He’s smarter than he looks when he wants to be.”

“But now he’s going to forbid me from helping out!” Calliope moaned. “ _G_ _eorgie…_ ”

“Hey, don’t you start,” Georgie snapped. “He’s just tryin’ to be a good dad. Even if he has no idea what he’s doing, he loves you.”

“How do you know he loves me? He won’t talk to me about mum and he won’t even hug me!”

“Rudyard’s a bit funny about personal space,” Georgie said. “Do you really think he doesn’t love you?”

“I dunno,” Calliope said. She took a pensive lick from her ice cream cone. “It’s just… You would think he would have figured out by now that he’s my dad. Mum tried to tell him a couple times and then there was that night in the woods…”

“Sometimes you have to spell things out for Rudyard,” Georgie said. “I don’t think he expected to have a daughter, but I think he’s damned lucky _you’re_ his daughter. I can’t think of a better kid on this whole, ruddy island.” 

Calliope smiled. Then, Agatha Doyle stuck her head out of the sweet shop and called to them both.

“Miss Funn!” she called out to Calliope. “Your father is on the phone, trying to file a missing person report. Shall I tell him you’re on your way home now?”

“Oh, for flip’s sake,” Georgie muttered. 

She finished her strawberry ice cream, hopped onto her mo-ped, and gestured for Calliope to do the same. Calliope still clung stubbornly to her cone as she wrapped her free arm around Georgie’s middle and they rode off in the direction of Funn Funerals. A few minutes later, they were greeted by an extremely cross-looking Rudyard.

“You didn’t leave a note!” he chastised. “Or call! You could have been anywhere! With anyone! You could have been dead, for all I know!”

“Rudyard, you knew I was gonna pick her up!” Georgie put her hands on her hips. “You asked me to!”

“I will deal with you in a moment!” Rudyard snapped. “Don’t think I’m pleased to know you don’t have helmets for that mo-ped!”

Georgie scoffed. 

“Now, look here, Calliope,” Rudyard said. “I was going to reinstate your mortuary privileges, but seeing as you’ve been out past curfew-”

“It’s five-thirty,” Calliope said. “The sun’s still out.”

“- I will have to keep those revoked until you demonstrate some responsibility. Am I making myself clear, young lady?” 

“Yeah,” Calliope grumbled. “Perfectly clear.”

And before Rudyard could be satisfied with that answer, she began to storm off. Just as she reached the landing of the stairs, the bell above the door to Funn Funerals rang and Eric Chapman stepped inside with a large envelope. 

“Evening, Funns!” he said. “Georgie.”

“Hey, Eric,” Georgie said tightly. “Now’s probably not the best time.”

Chapman looked from her to the tableau before him. Rudyard, arms crossed, stared up at the stairs. In a strikingly similar pose, Calliope stood on the first landing, trying to make her getaway. Antigone was nowhere to be seen, but Chapman had gotten so used to her lurking in the shadows that that didn’t seem particularly odd. He cleared his throat. 

“Right,” he said. “I… I just wanted to drop off the pictures from this morning. I promised Rudyard…”

“Right,” Rudyard said. “Thank you, Chapman, but we’re actually in the middle of… something.”

“Yeah, I’ll just leave them on the counter,” Chapman said. “They came out really nicely, though. You and Calliope look great…”

“Not now, Eric.”

“RIght. Yes. Well. Enjoy yourselves!”

Chapman left Funn Funerals as quickly as he had walked in. Rudyard sighed. The man really was trying to be his friend, wasn’t he? On top of everything else! Rubbing his temples, he looked up to where Calliope stood, only to find the spot vacated and, a few seconds later, hear her bedroom door slam. He sighed and looked at Georgie. 

“I don’t understand,” he said faintly. “I was just worried about her.”

“She’s a smart kid, Rudyard,” Georgie said. “And she was with me. So she was safe. You don’t need to be overprotective.”

“How protective should I be, then?” Rudyard snapped. “I just… I want to keep her safe.”

“I know.”

“Why doesn’t she?”

Georgie worried her lower lip for a moment. She met Rudyard’s dark, intense gaze and decided she could not shrink from it. So, inhaling deeply, she tried to assemble her thoughts.

“She doesn’t see that as love,” she said. “I know that’s how you show you care, but she’s used to a bit more freedom than that.”

“Well, she’ll have to get unused to it!”

“Or you could try meeting her in the middle,” Georgie said. 

“What happened to you not telling me how to parent my child?”

“Look, we got talkin’ and Calliope thinks you don’t love her.”

“I- what?”

“Yeah. She said you won’t talk to her about her mum and you won’t hug her and… I dunno, I guess that struck a nerve with her.”

“No one has ever wanted me to hug them before,” Rudyard said softly. 

“I wouldn’t try huggin’ her right now,” Georgie said. “She’s not happy with you.”

“Because I won’t hug her?”

“Because of a lot of things,” Georgie said. “She’s lost her mum and had her whole life upended and you’re clearly new at this parenting thing…”

“She can’t hold that against me! Cordelia didn’t hold that against me!”

“So you read the letter?” Georgie asked. “How… how was it?”

“Informative,” Rudyard said, sighing. “We wasted… so much time, I don’t want to waste any more.”

“Then you can start by giving Cal some space to cool off and try again tomorrow. Maybe with those pictures Chapman took. Maybe you can walk her to school again!”

“She might hate me.”

“I don’t think she hates you at all,” Georgie said. “I think she loves you and I think that’s gotta be scary because she’s already lost one person she loves this week. She’s grievin’.” 

Rudyard sighed. 

“You should go home, Georgie,” he said. “Get some rest. We have a funeral to prepare for.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Georgie said. “Try not to beat yourself up all night about this? Tomorrow’s a new day and all that.”

“Thank you,” Rudyard said quietly. He watched Georgie leave and then he walked to the mortuary. Very quietly, he rapped his knuckles against the door. “Antigone? I know you’ve been eavesdropping. Can I come in? Please?”

Perhaps it was the “please” that did it, but Antigone opened the mortuary door for her brother. 

“Can I sit with you and Cordelia?” he asked.

“You’ve never had an interest in sitting with a corpse before,” Antigone said, tilting her head. “Why now?”

“She’s the mother of my child, Antigone.” Rudyard sounded wearier than he ever had before. “And I just… I want to sit with her. And with you. I need someone to co-parent with and it has to be one of you. Or both.” 

“Put the shoe covers on and watch your step,” Antigone said, leading Rudyard down the stairs. He followed in silent obedience. “You can pull up a stool and sit with her while I clean up for the night.”

Rudyard perched on the stool, eyeing Cordelia’s corpse warily. She looked much more like the woman he remembered in his younger days than she had when he had picked the body up from Chapman Community Hospital. That should have brought him comfort. Instead, he averted his gaze to watch as Antigone calibrated the remaining machines to their overnight settings. 

“I wish you had told me Calliope was helping out in the mortuary,” he said quietly. “Why _didn’t_ you tell me?”

“Christ,” Antigone muttered. “Is that why you wanted to be down here?”

“Not entirely, no. But since I am here, I thought we could talk about it.”

“She came down here on her own,” Antigone said. “I let her stay because I thought it might give her some closure. Just like I’m letting you sit with Cordelia now.”

“Did it scar you horribly to embalm our mother and father?” Rudyard asked. “I never asked.”

“There was no one else to do it for me,” Antigone said quietly. “You should know the feeling. You buried them.”

“Yes.”

The dripping of the cellars filled the silence. Rudyard sighed. 

“Cordelia wants you to let Calliope help out in the mortuary,” he said. “She wrote me a letter saying so. If you can bear to have an assistant…”

“Is that what you want?” Antigone asked. “I heard you say you were taking her mortuary privileges away.”

“I may have spoken too rashly,” Rudyard said. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned into his hands. “Georgie says Calliope thinks I don’t love her.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Rudyard…”

"I reported her as missing tonight. To Agatha Doyle. When she and Georgie didn't come home on time."

"Jesus wept..."

“I just want to protect her. From everything, not just the normal things like bullies and land mines, but from breaking her own heart, seeing her mother like this, _me_ …”

“Oh, Rudyard…”

“I mean, it isn’t as though I’ll be a very good father,” he continued, as if not having heard his sister’s sympathy. “I’m not especially good at much of anything. You remind me often enough - not that I’m blaming _you_ , of course, it’s just, well. Calliope is used to a home full of love and support and then for her to come _here_ … I can’t give her those things. No one ever showed me _how_. I mean, I can’t recall our parents ever hugging us. Do you?”

“There are other ways to show love,” Antigone said, hovering nearer to her brother. She folded her arms. 

“What do you know about it?” 

“I don’t, I suppose,” Antigone said softly. 

She pulled up the other stool and sat opposite Rudyard, staring at him in the darkness. Even though Rudyard couldn’t see her, he could feel his sister’s gaze on him. He’d gotten very good, over the years, at knowing when she was looking at him. Sighing, he looked up at her. 

“You might not be a total cock-up as a father.” 

“The odds aren’t exactly in my favor,” Rudyard said bitterly. “You tell me often enough what a failure I am. Why would I suddenly be good at the only thing I’ve ever done that matters?”

“I don’t think you’re a failure,” Antigone said softly. “I mean, our business is _floundering_ and you’re not very good at a lot of things-”

“But?”

“But what? I’m not going to stroke your ego. Our business is floundering and you’re not very good at a lot of things.”

“Oh.”

“But you do try,” Antigone said. “And you always _want_ to try.”

“Chapman said that the other day,” Rudyard muttered. “That no one tries harder than I do.”

“That’s a bit depressing, actually.”

“Yes, I know.” Rudyard looked back at Cordelia’s body. He smiled sadly. “She wrote me a letter…”

“Yes?”

“Cordelia said she… er… was confident that I’d be a good father. That she felt good leaving Calliope in my care.”

“I agree with her,” Antigone said. “Rudyard, you don’t give up easily - not on people, not on projects - and you throw your whole heart into everything you do, even if it’s a terrible idea. I can’t imagine why parenting would be any different.”

Rudyard laughed wetly. 

“I’ve missed so much of Calliope’s life already. She’s ten years old; that’s so many milestones, so much bonding… lost to the sands of time. I’ll bet her mum knew how to make breakfast from scratch every morning and give her hugs without flinching and what to do when she got scared.”

“We can learn to do all of those things. _You_ can learn to do all of those things,” Antigone assured him. 

She reached across the space between them and put her hand atop Rudyard’s. Rudyard startled but found that even though Antigone’s hand was cold, he didn’t mind it holding his just now. He squeezed her fingertips lightly. 

“But how do I show her I love her?” he asked. “She might not see morning arguments as an acceptable way to show love.”

“Just because that’s how you love me doesn’t mean that’s how you’ll love Calliope,” Antigone said. “There have to be… I don’t know… a million ways to show love. You just have to find what works for you.”

“I wish Cordelia had left instructions on that.”

“I don’t think she could have. Love is intensely personal. The way she loved Calliope might not be the same as how you will love her.”

“I think I love her already,” Rudyard said, voice even quieter than before. “I think I have since I met her… I’ve always known she was special. She reminds me so much of you at her age and I just want to do better by her than I did by you, certainly better than our father did by either of us.”

“That’s a start. But, Rudyard, you know she isn’t me? She isn’t either of us.”

“Yes, I know,” Rudyard said. “She’s… even more capable and brilliant and pleasant and - ow!”

Antigone squeezed Rudyard’s fingers too tightly to get him to shut up. He scowled at her, sure that she could see him in the low lighting. 

“I mean to say she’s her own person,” he said, prying his hand out of Antigone’s grasp. “And I admired her for it when we met and I admire it now. You don’t have to cause me bodily harm for saying kind things about my daughter. That’s hardly going to inspire me to do it again.”

“Oh, shut up, Rudyard,” Antigone said affectionately. “I think you love her too much to _never_ say nice things about her again.”

“I thought you didn’t know about love,” Rudyard said, massaging his hand.

“I thought I didn’t either, but your face, just now, talking about her, is the same face you make when you talk to Madeline or when you think Georgie isn’t looking or when you practice your mandolin or make a particularly fine schedule. And that might be love.”

“I have no idea what my face was doing and I will not self-incriminate,” Rudyard said, rising. “But I think you ought to know it does that when I talk about you and you aren’t around to injure me for it. Goodnight, Antigone. Goodnight, Cordelia. Thank you. Both of you.”

Rudyard began to ascend the steps and then he stopped, just shy of the door and peered into the darkness where he knew his sister would be.

“Antigone?” he called. “Save doing Cordelia’s makeup for tomorrow evening. I really do want Calliope to have a chance to say goodbye in her own, special way.”

And with that, he opened the mortuary door. A flickering shadow in the hall that disappeared up the steps told him that maybe, just maybe, his conversation with Antigone hadn’t been as private as he had hoped, after all. 


	6. In Which a Fight Ensues and Chapman Offers Counseling

Rudyard awoke early the following morning and dressed carefully. Then, creeping down the ancient staircase, he snuck into the kitchen and rummaged through the cupboard for a cookbook he hadn’t touched in years. Rudyard wished he could say it was a family heirloom, but instead, the cookbook had been an early purchase made after his parents’ deaths. Then, it had been shiny and the pages had been white. He remembered bursting into Funn Funerals, clutching it - the reward he’d bought himself with his first paycheck. 

“Think of it, Antigone,” he’d said - he’d been eighteen at the time, as full of big ideas as he was now, buoyed by optimism he had not exactly retained nor entirely lost over the last seventeen years. “You and I can make any kind of food we want! No one will tell us it’s too decadent to eat more than one egg between us!”

The plan to learn to cook hadn’t lasted terribly long. Rudyard learned some basic dishes; Antigone a few more. Much of what they learned to make had been through trial and horrible, horrible error. But every now and then, he would look at the book longingly and think,  _ One day _ . What day was a better “one day” than now? As Rudyard strove to make amends with his daughter, he could make her a wonderful breakfast and try again to walk her to school. He flicked through the yellowed pages as he and Madeline pored over them.

“I want to make something special for Calliope,” he told Madeline. “Any ideas?”

Madeline thought for a moment before offering a suggestion, whiskers quivering with anticipation.

“Yes, that does sound special, doesn’t it?” Rudyard said. “But I don’t know where I’m going to get Wagu beef at this hour. Besides, beef sounds like more of a supper thing…”

Madeline squeaked again.

“I suppose I could make beef later,” Rudyard agreed. “But I could never afford Wagu beef and you know that. I certainly couldn’t afford to mess it up! What’s something we actually have?”

After rummaging through the icebox, Rudyard settled on poached eggs over toast. He knew how to poach an egg and Calliope had fixed the toaster. There was enough to make breakfast for everyone in the household - including Georgie when she came around for work. Rudyard flipped open the page on hollandaise sauce and contemplated it as he stirred the vinegared water. If they had ham, he could rightly call it an eggs benedict, but…

“Well, it doesn’t matter what it’s called, does it?” he said to Madeline. “What matters is that Calliope knows I’m  _ trying _ .” 

“Good morning, Mr. Funn.”

Rudyard startled upon hearing his name. Standing in the doorway, dressed for school, and holding her beat-up hiking backpack, Calliope watched him with a gently tilted head. 

“What are you doing?” she asked him. 

“I’m making breakfast,” he told her “I got my old cookbook out and I’m… trying something new.”

“What are you trying?”

“A hollandaise sauce. I’m not much a fan of the extravagance of these French sauces but it says here:  _ A hollandaise sauce is a simple and excellent way to impress your friends and loved ones with your culinary prowess. _ ”

“Who are you trying to impress?” Calliope asked, inching into the kitchen. “Are we having company?”

"No. Actually, Calliope, I was hoping…” Rudyard paused. He inhaled deeply. “I wanted to make you breakfast since you made us breakfast yesterday.”

“That’s sweet,” Calliope said. “Have you ever made a hollandaise sauce before, though?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Maybe I could show you how…”

"You know how to make hollandaise sauce?" Rudyard asked.

"Yes, I do, actually."

"So you won't be impressed by my culinary prowess?"

"I'm sorry," Calliope said. "It's just, well, Mum taught me. We used to cook together…"

"Ah. I see."

"Are you upset?" Calliope put a hand on Rudyard's arm. "I can pretend to be impressed-"

"No, no. I'm impressed you know your way around a kitchen. Go ahead, then. Show me how it's done."

His plans dashed, Rudyard tried to scramble for a Plan B. He hadn't gotten that far. Improvising, he let Calliope walk him through the steps of preparing breakfast - decadent and plentiful, which were not words Rudyard usually associated with his kitchen. They ate in strained silence.

"Did you want to look at those pictures Mr. Chapman took of us?" Calliope asked, very clearly extending an olive branch to her father.

"I don't like to think about Eric Chapman while I'm eating," Rudyard said, very clearly mistaking the olive branch for poison oak. "What business does he have, trying to interfere with my child?"

"I mean, he is your friend, isn't he?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh. I always thought he was your friend. Your rival, sure, but you're always pulling pranks on each other and he doesn't call you mean names, not even behind your back and he  _ did _ come to rescue you with the rest of your family when we went camping… After the STIFD conference, he had Mum tune up his guitar and he said he was very sorry to have missed your mandolin solo and that he wished he'd known you played, so the two of you could have a jam session…"

"I don't want to have a jam session with Chapman."

"So he's not your friend?"

"He's trying to put me out of business!"

"Maybe he's just threatened by you. Mum used to tell me that our friends are only mean to us because they feel inadequate compared to us or because they have some hard truths to tell us."

"Chapman is not my friend!"

"Christ, are we already talking about Eric Chapman?" Antigone asked, skulking into the kitchen. "It's not even 8 o'clock!"

"Good morning, Auntigone!" Calliope chirped. "Mr. Funn and I made breakfast!"

"And the kitchen is still in one piece, I see," Antigone said. "You're teaching him well, Calliope."

"We made eggs and toast with hollandaise sauce," Rudyard said, trying to ignore his sister's snark. "If you'd like to join us-"

"I'll take my plate to the mortuary," Antigone said. Something glimmered in her eye. Rudyard got the feeling he was supposed to understand it, but whatever twin intuition he possessed did not account for cryptic glances this early in the morning. "Give the two of you some privacy."

Calliope protested but Antigone made herself a plate and disappeared back into the mortuary.

"Does she realize how unsanitary that is?" Calliope asked.

Rudyard made a noncommittal sound.

"It's best not to say anything about it," he said.

Breakfast was consumed, dishes were washed, and a note was left for Georgie, bequeathing the rest of their semi-gourmet breakfast to her. As Calliope double-checked her bag for her homework, Rudyard picked up the photographs sitting on the counter. Hr hated to admit it, but Chapman took a decent photo. He managed to capture both Calliope and Rudyard smiling. Calliope's ears were bright pink and she puffed out her chest. Rudyard, who never looked good smiling, somehow appeared softer in the photograph. His shy smile lacked grace but met his eyes, which shone in the morning sunlight. His arm wrapped around Calliope gently, as if he feared breaking her or but tightly enough to belie his fear of losing grasp of her. They looked happier than either of them had a right to be, given the circumstances. Rudyard bit his lower lip.

"Damn you, Chapman," he muttered, voice softer than when he usually uttered those words. Maybe, even if Rudyard didn't consider Chapman a friend, Chapman cared enough about Rudyard to try and memorialize the week in a positive light. Maybe, by extension, the man even cared about Calliope. Rudyard slid the pictures into his jacket. 

"Are you going to walk me to school again?" Calliope asked.

"Hmm? Yes! Of course. That is, if you'd like me to…"

They stepped out of Funn Funerals in silence. Rudyard looked across the square at Chapman’s. In the last three years, he couldn’t recall ever looking over there with fondness, which he certainly wasn’t doing now, but even if he was, he didn’t want or need Eric Chapman noticing. The last thing he needed was-

“Good morning, Funns!” 

Rudyard gave a little shout as Chapman all but materialized on the sidewalk in front of them. He carried a cloth bag with the words “Piffling Farmer’s Market” embroidered on the side. Rudyard eyed the bag and the man warily.

“Chapman.”

“What grand adventure are you two off to today?” he asked, looking more at Calliope than Rudyard, but still catching Rudyard’s eye after a moment’s silence passed. 

“School,” Calliope said. “It’s Thursday morning.

“Oh.” Chapman blinked a few times, evidently unaware of the school calendar. “Blimey, you’d think it was already summer vacation, how sunny it’s been lately.”

“Why would I think that?” Calliope asked. “I know when school ends.”

“What’s in the bag, Chapman?” Rudyard asked before Chapman could begin to flounder in conversation with Calliope again. 

“Oh, you know,” Chapman said evasively. “Just some things I picked up at the market, support the local economy…”

“Hmm.” The disinterest in Rudyard’s voice was palpable. Chapman deflated a little. Rudyard smiled, exposing too many teeth. “As lovely as it’s been talking to you, Chapman, we really do have to get going. We need to get the student in the classroom in the school on time-”

Rudyard began to steer Calliope away, down the sidewalk, and walk briskly in the direction of Piffling School.

“Rudyard, wait!”

Sighing, Rudyard stopped and turned around to look at Chapman. 

“What?”

“Will you be out all day?” 

“No, we’ve still got the fune-” Rudyard looked at Calliope guiltily and lowered his voice, “- the f-u-n-e-r-a-l. I suspect I’ll be back as soon as possible, not a moment to waste…”

“Right,” Chapman said. “I just… I wondered, so I thought I’d ask.”

“Mhmm.” Rudyard’s disinterest melted into skepticism. “I’m sure I don’t want to know why you wondered about that.”

“I just wondered-”

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I really have to walk Calliope to school-”

“She’s already started walking herself. You might want to catch up.”

Rudyard looked down the sidewalk to see that Calliope had, indeed, begun to walk towards school without him. He scrambled to catch up. Winded when he finally joined her, Rudyard took a moment to catch his breath. 

“Now, look here, young lady-”

“No, you look here,” Calliope snapped. She stopped walking and faced Rudyard. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she’d been crying since storming off. Maybe she had been. “I don’t mind you stopping to talk to your friend when we’re spending time together-”

“He’s not my friend-”

“But you don’t have to talk about Mum’s death and the funeral like I’m too young to understand!” Calliope folded her arms. “I’m not a child!”

“By definition, that is exactly what you are,” Rudyard said sourly. “And you’re my child at that.”

“I heard you talking to Auntigone last night,” said Calliope. “Mum wanted you to let me help out in the mortuary, didn’t she? When were you going to tell me you weren’t honoring my mother’s dying wishes?”

“Now, look here-!”

“Am I wrong? Didn’t she want me to help embalm her? In those letters she wrote to you?”

“It was one letter!” Rudyard protested. “And I only just read it yesterday!”

“You’ve had it all week! I  _ told _ you to read Mum’s letter!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been a very stressful week-”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. You’ve had a stressful week. I’ve only lost my mother and found out that my childhood hero is my father and I’m not sure I want him to be either after yesterday!”

“I was worried about you! I didn’t know where you had gone!”

“But you knew I was with Georgie!”

“I  _ hoped _ you were with Georgie. I didn’t  _ know _ anything!”

“Yeah, I can tell that much, Mr. Funn,” Calliope said. “You don’t even know how to help me process my grief. Everything this week has been about making sure you don’t feel like a failure as a father! You keep trying to  _ impress  _ me, but you haven’t asked how I’m feeling or what I need or - I mean, what kind of funeral director are you?”

Something about those words felt like a slap to the face. Rudyard drew into himself, pulling himself up as tall and tight as he could. He looked at his daughter and suddenly felt as if he understood why she refused to call him anything but “Mr. Funn” and why she adored Antigone so much. He couldn’t be Antigone. He couldn’t be Cordelia. He could only be himself and even if Antigone insisted he wasn’t a total cock-up as a father, he now had evidence to the contrary. He wasn’t a good father and he wasn’t even a good funeral director. If it hadn’t been Cordelia’s wish to be buried by Funn Funerals, he might have given the service to Chapman on his way home today. At least then, Calliope would get the comfort and closure she deserved. Rudyard took a deep breath.

“I don’t mean to treat you like you can’t handle your mother’s death,” he said quietly. “You’re a capable young woman and… I know I haven’t been a part of your life for very long, but being a part of it… being your father is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. And so if I’ve made this funeral about me… I’m sorry. I just wanted the chance to bond with you. That’s not an excuse for failing you as a funeral director. I should have honored all of your mother’s final wishes from the start and let you grieve in your own way. I’ve told Antigone to wait until you come home to finish preparing your mother for the funeral. I know it might not be enough, but… well, it’s the least I could do.”

Calliope sniffled. Rudyard sighed.

“Look, Calliope, I am very sorry for your loss,” he said. “I won’t tell you your mother is in a better place because the best place for her to be is with you. And I won’t tell you that at least she isn’t suffering anymore because the parts of her life with you in it, even at the close, could never be called ‘suffering’. I won’t even tell you that she must’ve loved you very much and that you must miss her because that goes without saying. But I will say that I’m here. Ant- Your Auntigone is here. Georgie is here. You have a family - or people who would very much like to be your family - here that want to support you through this and love you for the rest of your life. If you wanted something other than that, you really ought to have gone with Chapman’s, but it’s the best we’ve got and it’s not a service package we offer to just anyone. Just you.”

Calliope rubbed her eyes and looked at her shoes.

“Thanks, Mr. Funn,” she mumbled. “I’ll see you at four.” 

She trudged down the sidewalk alone and Rudyard knew that even if he caught up to her again, she wouldn’t want him nearby just now. With a heavy heart, he turned back and walked to Funn Funerals. Rudyard was so consumed by some kind of misery that he almost didn’t notice that the door was open. It swung on its hinges, even though Rudyard distinctly remembered shutting it on his way out. He called out for Georgie first, then Antigone. Neither of them responded. Rudyard rushed from the foyer into the main room to see Eric Chapman affixing a large bow to an even larger bouquet. Lilies and roses sprayed in every direction. It was easily the largest bouquet anyone had ever brought into Funn Funerals and - aside from the Roger Noggins funeral - the most expensive. Freezing in the doorway, Rudyard watched as Chapman had the good graces to blush and stand up slowly. He held his hands up as if surrendering. 

“I can explain-”

“This is why you wanted to know if I was coming home! You wanted to break into Funn Funerals and-”

“Give it a rest, Rudyard. You never lock your door.”

Rudyard’s body sagged and he folded his arms. 

“I’m not in the mood,” he said quietly. “Just tell me why you’re here. The sooner you do that, the sooner I can remind you where the door is.”

Chapman lowered his hands. Hurt flashed across his usually smug face. Rudyard would have usually delighted in seeing his rival in pain, but his feelings still smarted from his quarrel with Calliope. It was hard to delight in someone else’s pain when you were hurting. 

“I brought you a bouquet,” Chapman said. “For the funeral.”

“You think we can’t secure our own flowers for the-”

“No! No, I mean, yes, you can. I mean, I brought  _ you _ flowers. To show my condolences.” Chapman paused. “I really am sorry, Rudyard. This has to have been a crazy week for you and I just wanted to do something nice.”

“The flowers… are for me?”

“Yes.”

“I hate flowers.”

“Oh, for the love of-!”

“I mean, I’m sure they’re lovely, but once you’ve seen one flower, you’ve seen them all-”

“Unbelievable.” Chapman folded his arms. “After everything, I try to do something nice for you-”

“Since when have you wanted to do something nice for me?” Rudyard snapped. “If you wanted to do something nice for me, you’d leave Piffling and never come back!”

Chapman looked like a kicked puppy. 

“If you don’t want them, you could have just said.”

“I didn’t say I don’t want them,” Rudyard snapped. “I just don’t understand why it is that you spend every waking moment trying to ruin my life-”

“I try to ruin your life?!”

“- and now that my ex-girlfriend is dead and my daughter isn’t speaking with me you think it’s okay to just swoop in here every day-”

“Calliope isn’t speaking with you?”

“- and try to bloody co-parent with me, when that’s what I have Antigone and Georgie for-”

“I’m not trying to  _ co-parent _ -”

“Oh? Really? Then what was your whole spiel about jealousy for?”

“I was just being honest. It’s what friends do!”

“We are  _ not _ friends, Chapman!” Rudyard growled. He slid down the doorframe and drew his knees to his chest. Breathing hard, he didn’t look at Chapman for a while. He got his voice under some semblance of control. “You and I are professional rivals and it doesn’t matter what anyone says - least of all you - because the fact of the matter is it doesn’t matter how hard I try, I’m not good enough. The last person I want to confide in after I’ve lost all of my daughter’s respect is  _ you _ . So if you don’t mind, leave the flowers and shut the door on your way out.”

Shoes creaked against the wooden floor. Rudyard expected Chapman to awkwardly step over him and disappear into the daylight. Instead, he slid down the other side of the door frame and faced Rudyard. His blue eyes searched Rudyard’s face in a way that made Rudyard feel exposed. He didn’t like that everyone in his family - and now  _ Chapman _ \- could look at him like that, so full of pity and understanding. Rudyard hugged his knees. Chapman tapped Rudyard’s foot with his own. 

“That doesn’t sound like the Rudyard Funn I know,” he said softly. “The Rudyard Funn I know never admits defeat.”

“Maybe he should,” Rudyard mumbled. “Maybe he should have years ago. Opened a business building tiny furniture.”

“Tiny furniture?”

“For mice,” Rudyard said. “It’s a niche but growing market.”

“Right.” Chapman didn’t sound convinced. “Somehow, I feel like this has less to do with our rivalry than it does with the funeral.”

“What gave you that idea?”

“You said Calliope isn’t talking to you. I can’t imagine it’s because you two had a row over me.”

“I mean, we did, but-”

“You did? I was joking. What were you-”

“Never mind that. That isn’t why we aren’t speaking,” Rudyard said. He sighed. “Did you know I was her childhood hero?”

“She’s ten.”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Another sigh. “But now… she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She’s angry with me about the funeral, about her mother’s letter and final wishes… She all but said I’m a terrible undertaker and worse father.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Rudyard shot Chapman a look. It was not a grateful or friendly one. 

“Right. Sorry.” Chapman made a conciliatory gesture for Rudyard to continue speaking. 

“I guess I’ve been scared to broach the topic of the funeral with her,” Rudyard confessed. “I’ve never been good at  _ comforting _ people. My job is, as I’ve always seen it, is to get the body in the coffin in the ground on time. But maybe… maybe you and Antigone are right, that there’s more to being a funeral director than that. But if I’m going to experiment with grief counseling, I don’t want my first casualty to be my own daughter.”

“You might not want to refer to your clients as ‘casualties’,” Chapman said. “But I see your point. You can only sling so many platitudes at a person before they lose effectiveness.”

Rudyard nodded solemnly. He’d always loved a good platitude; they made him feel like he knew what to say. Now, faced with his daughter’s grief, he didn’t know what to say at all. He only knew she was hurting and that he had added to that hurt. Rudyard wasn’t in the habit of apologizing to the bereaved families he served. Now, though, he considered that he might have to apologize to Calliope. He already had, but it wasn’t good enough. If it was good enough maybe… He bit his tongue. If he had only talked to Cordelia about things - about everything - they may have avoided at least some of this mess. Instead, he was talking to Chapman and that didn’t bring him answers. It comforted Rudyard, which only meant that it horrified him, too. He cast a rueful look at Chapman. 

“Don’t you have something better to do with your time than sit on the floor with me in the middle of the workday?”

“I can’t think of a better use of my time,” Chapman said. “Bit pathetic, isn’t it?”

“You don’t have any clients?” Rudyard brightened a little.

“Oh. I mean, there’s the Aplin funeral on Monday,” Chapman said, dimming Rudyard’s excitement a little. “You know, the survivalist.”

“Yes, right,” Rudyard said. “Anticlimactic way to go, bungee jumping off the Piffling Cliffs.”

“You would think he would have waited until the bungee was secure before jumping.”

“Hmm.”

Chapman groaned and pushed himself to his feet. He offered a hand to Rudyard, who examined it before deciding he’d rather push himself upright than take Chapman’s hand. He didn’t think he could without losing his barely-regained dignity. Chapman lowered his hand almost reluctantly. A silent few seconds passed between the two funeral directors as they looked at each other in the narrow doorway. 

“Are you going to be okay, Rudyard?” Chapman asked.

“I suspect I don’t have much of a choice…”

“Well, if you’re ever not okay, you can always give me a ring.”

“Thank you, Chapman, but you know I won’t.” 

“Well, then I’ll have to come ‘round and check up on you every now and then,” Chapman said.

A pale smile stretched across Rudyard’s lips - largely against his will. If he wasn’t distraught over his fight with Calliope or preparing for her mother’s funeral, he would have had the strength to remind Chapman that he would report any breaking and entering to Agatha Doyle. If he hadn’t been so thoroughly miserable, he would have warned Chapman that Antigone wouldn’t take kindly to his intrusion. But Rudyard didn’t quite feel like himself still. He felt heavier and more grounded. For the first time in a long time, he recognized a peace offering upon first glance. 

“You’ll know where to find me,” Rudyard said. “We haven’t moved since the fifteenth century.”

“And if you change your mind - I know you won’t, but if you do - you know where to find me.”

“Yes.”

“Rudyard, I-”

“Oi, Rudyard!” Georgie walked into the main room from the kitchen, holding a plate of eggs and toast. Rudyard wondered if she’d been eavesdropping this whole time. Then he heard the back door out of the kitchen snap shut. No, she’d just gone through the back, probably after stashing the mo-ped in the back lawn. “Did you make these or did Calliope?” His chest knotted up a little as he looked at his assistant. Chapman must have followed his gaze and waved because Georgie’s next words were an icy: “Hi, Eric.” 

“Calliope and I made breakfast together,” Rudyard said. “Help yourself.”

"Cheers,” she said. “I’m glad the two of you made up after yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rudyard said even more tightly than before.

“I should let you two get back to breakfast and back to work,” Chapman said. “Rudyard, if you need any-”

“Bye, Eric,” Georgie said, cutting Chapman off. 

Chapman squared his shoulders. He puckered his lips and looked like he might say something. Rudyard wasn’t sure he wanted him to. So instead, nodding, Rudyard said, “I’ll know where to find you if I need to, Chapman. Good luck with the Aplin funeral.”

“Right. Enjoy yourselves.”

Chapman spared Rudyard one last glance before leaving through the front door. Rudyard sighed and his body went slack again. 

“What was that about?” Georgie asked, sitting at Rudyard’s desk, feet up, and a mouth full of egg. 

“What was what about?”

“You. Chapman. You actually told him ‘good luck’ with a funeral.”

“Well, he’ll need it. Mr. Aplin looks more like a Jackson Pollock painting than a person at this point-”

“It was weird,” Georgie said. “Did somethin’ happen this morning?”

“Nothing… new,” Rudyard said. He sat on the edge of the desk. “Calliope and I are still fighting.”

“Rudyard…” Georgie shut her eyes. 

“I apologized!” Rudyard protested. “Sincerely!”

So he filled Georgie in on the morning’s events, omitting as much of his conversation with Chapman as he could. She listened, pensively eating her breakfast as Rudyard spoke. When Rudyard finished, Georgie set her plate aside and looked at him with a cocked head. She was silent for a moment before sighing. 

“I’ll pick her up at four,” Georgie said. “What are you gonna do until then?”

“I have some phone calls to make,” Rudyard said softly. “I haven’t been able to think about the funeral as much as I should and… I want to make it special.”

“When you say ‘special’...?”

“I’m going to call Cordelia’s music students. Have them put on a tribute concert. Nothing flashy - I’m not Antigone - just some amateur musicians, paying tribute to the woman who taught them their musical scales. And I need to confirm the schedule with the Reverend, of course. And… I want to ask Calliope how she’d feel doing the eulogy. I’ll do it if she doesn’t feel up to it, but it just feels right to leave it in her capable hands…”

“Sounds like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Georgie said. She reached for the phone. “There’s no way parents are gonna let their small children work at one of your funerals after Scout Leader Bunts’ funeral pyre. Let me make those calls.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

Georgie shrugged.

“Pop down to the vicarage, see the reverend. You might wanna take your paternity test results to him, show him you got all the legal nonsense outta the way and you’re ready to be Calliope’s dad in earnest.”

Rudyard hopped off the desk and went around to the filing cabinet to take out the paperwork from his and Calliope’s lab results. He smiled softly. 

“Thanks, Georgie,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” she said. “Y’know if you ever need anything, you don’t have to go all the way ‘cross the square. I’ve got your back, sir.”

Rudyard bit his lip.  _ I tried to tell Chapman, _ he thought.  _ That’s what family is for. _ But instead of saying that, he nodded and thanked Georgie before stepping outside into the blindingly bright sunlight. 


	7. In Which Rudyard Plans a Funeral and Calliope Prepares to Say Goodbye

The little church was familiar as ever, atop a small, green hill just outside of the village center. Behind the church, the even more familiar burial grounds sprawled out. Piffling Cemetery was Rudyard’s second place of work and had always been somehow more sacred to him than the church itself. There, a schedule reigned supreme and ordered the cosmos, letting God - if he truly existed - take a bit of a break, perhaps even a long enough break to miss Reverend Wavering’s heretical waffling about the existence of God. Rudyard cast a fond glance out to the overgrown lawn, which encroached upon the headstones. Since resigning from the village council, the funds Rudyard had put towards the upkeep of the cemetery went… somewhere else. He wasn’t sure where; only that it was entirely Eric Chapman’s fault the graveyard was in mild disarray. However, looking upon it now, he couldn’t bring himself to blame Chapman with glee, as he usually would. Somehow, he thought that even though the grass wasn’t manicured, it looked beautiful in imperfection. The sight of it brought a smile to his lips, even though he had come to the church with grave business. Rudyard jaunted up the steps and through the doors. His smile faded when he was greeted by chipper organ music and Reverend Wavering yelling for a deaf Miss Scruple to stop playing “Habanera”. Rudyard didn’t wait for her to stop before shouting his way into the scene.

“Hello, Reverend!” he called out over the off-tempo music. “I’ve come to talk about Cordelia’s funeral!”

“You’ve what?” Reverend Wavering shouted back. “Speak up, Rudyard!”

“The Roach funeral is tomorrow!”

“I have a coat you’d like to borrow?”

“The funeral!”

“You want to borrow my coat for the funeral?”

“No, Reverend-”

“Miss Scruple, if you’d please-!”

Miss Scruple stopped playing. Rudyard’s ears rang for a moment as silence filled the church. Massaging his temples, he looked over at Reverend Wavering helplessly. Reverend Wavering offered a little shrug, a sigh, and a half-smile. 

“So, which coat did you want to borrow, Rudyard? It had better not be the one Desmond bought me for my birthday…”

“No, I don’t want to borrow any coat,” Rudyard said. The reverend deflated a little as if his ego had been punctured. Rudyard paid it no mind. “The Roach funeral is tomorrow.”

“Yes, I know that. Why were you shouting at me about it?”

Rudyard sighed.

“Oh, I always liked that Cordelia Roach,” Miss Scruple said, swiveling around on the bench in front of the organ. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down. “It’s a shame she died so young, and with that little girl of hers to worry about.”

Rudyard’s chest stung.

“Yes, about that, actually, Reverend-”

“I always told her she’d find a nice man someday, help her with that little girl, but I never actually thought she would. She was better off without one. Well, until now, I suppose.”

“Yes, about that-”

“You know, she used to fancy you, Mr. Funn,” Miss Scruple said. “When I was teaching her how to play the organ, she would say to me, “Dottie, what do you think of that Rudyard Funn down the road? What do you think about him, Dottie? Do you think he’s happy over there at Funn Funerals?” and I would say “I don’t know, Cordelia. You should ask him, Cordelia. Have you been ‘round to see him lately, Cordelia?” And she would always have some sort of excuse and I’d think to myself: it’s a real shame that Rudyard Funn is such a miserable louse of a man. If he would just smile a little more, maybe they’d be happy together and raise that daughter of theirs together like a proper family-”

“I’m sorry, what?” Rudyard asked. 

“I know everyone went on about that traveling clavichord salesman, but I remember thinking to myself: Oh, Dottie, you know, Cordelia Roach wouldn’t go on about just anybody like that and that little Calliope is looking more and more like Rudyard Funn every day, has his bone structure. I wonder how long it’ll take her to tell him that he’s that little girl’s father. And I’d ask her, Did you tell him yet, Cordelia? Did you tell Rudyard about your daughter yet, Cordelia? Because I just thought it would be such a shame if that little girl went through life thinking she didn’t have a father to show her love and affection when really, he’s only just down the road and her mother’s too stubborn to talk to him about it all. It can’t be healthy-”

“You knew all this time…” Rudyard started angrily.

“I didn’t realize it was a secret,” Miss Scruple said. She looked at Reverend Wavering. “Didn’t you notice, Reverend?”

“I… No, I didn’t, actually,” he said. He frowned, eyeing Rudyard. “But now that you’ve said all that, I can see the resemblance. And it would explain why Cordelia insisted that Calliope be baptized as “Calliope Roach-Funn”. I just thought it was something of a lark for her…”

“Are you saying I took this paternity test for nothing?” Rudyard asked, brandishing the folder of documents in the air. 

“Well, that depends,” Reverend Wavering said. “Because if the test came back negative, then all this is just wild speculation and gossip.”

Rudyard shoved the folder into the reverend’s chest. Sputtering his protest, Reverend Wavering opened the folder and read the documents inside. 

“Well then,” he said at long last, “I suppose this means Calliope can continue to stay with you.”

Rudyard sighed. 

“I also want to talk to you about the funeral,” he said. “I have some ideas for the ceremony and I need to get your permission.”

“Why? Do you have something unorthodox planned?” Reverend Wavering asked. “You’ve never sought my permission before. I can’t imagine why you’d start soliciting for it now.”

“I want Cordelia’s music students to perform,” he said. “She was Piffling Vale’s only music instructor for some years and before that, she ran the music emporium. It just seems… fitting. Nice. People who loved her paying homage to her before she’s laid to rest.”

“That’s actually rather sweet, Rudyard,” Reverend Wavering said. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

“Oh, you know…”

“I’ll bet Antigone put it into his head,” Miss Scruple said. “It’s the kind of artistic thing she’s very good at.”

“Actually, this was _my_ idea,” Rudyard said. “This funeral… it’s different.”

“Really?” Reverend Wavering asked. “Is it Wiccan? I always wanted to try a Wiccan funeral.”

“No, now look here,” Rudyard said. “Cordelia and I may have broken up a long time ago, but she was still the mother of my child. This needs to be special - for her, for Calliope… And I just want to know what I can have done in the church that won’t…”

“Go horribly wrong?” Reverend Wavering suggested.

“Yes, that, thanks.”

“I’d like to play something at Cordelia’s funeral,” Miss Scruple said. “She was the only other person on Piffling who loved this organ as much as I do.”

“Yes, all right,” Rudyard said. “I’ll see where I can work it into the schedule. Georgie’s calling Cordelia’s former students as we speak.”

“It sounds rather thought-out,” Reverend Wavering said. “I’m excited to see how it all works out!”

“You and me both,” Miss Scruple said cheerfully. “There really is no funeral like a Funn Funeral. Do you think they’ll conjure up any ghosts at this one?”

After Rudyard reassured both reverend and organist that he would not be summoning spirits to Cordelia’s funeral, he returned home, feeling triumphant for the first time in days. He arrived to see Georgie with a beautiful checklist, finishing up a lively phone conversation filled with warmth Rudyard could never have hoped to emulate. Beaming at him when she hung up, Georgie handed Rudyard the list. 

“So these are all the acts who’ve agreed to perform,” she said, tapping the first page of the legal pad. “The second page is a list of ushers and pallbearers; third page is just everyone else who agreed to come.”

“Georgie, we might have a full house for this one.”

“I’m great at convincin’ people to come to funerals,” she said proudly. Then, after a pause, she said, “Everyone I talked to had really nice things to say about Calliope’s mum.”

“Of course they did,” Rudyard said. “Cordelia was the kindest person I’ve ever known. Warm and sincere, always helping others… I may not have understood it at the time, but I know now that I loved her and should have loved her better. We would have been great friends, raising Calliope together.”

“Do you miss her?” Georgie asked delicately. 

“I haven’t had time to miss her,” Rudyard said. “We broke up and I tried to impress her into wanting me back with the village council and when that didn’t work as planned, I just… threw myself into not missing her. Life was easier without having to miss her. And now, I don’t know if I miss her or if I miss what we could have been. I don’t think I’ll ever know.”

Sad silence passed between the undertaker and his assistant. Rudyard’s vision blurred. There was no use dwelling on what might have been and what wasn’t, but he supposed that he ought to let himself grieve a little so that he could handle everyone else’s grief tomorrow. He thumbed at the corner of his eye. He was not in love with Cordelia and he wasn’t foolish enough to think he might be, but he did care for her and he did sorely wish she was here now to spare Calliope the pain of loss and to guide them through the rift in their relationship. Sighing Rudyard ushered Georgie out of his chair and sat down. 

“I’m going to organize the schedule for tomorrow,” he said. “Is the coffin ready?”

“I’ll put the finishing touches on it while you get the details organized,” Georgie said. “Is Antigone finished with…?”

“No,” said Rudyard. “I asked her to let Calliope help put the final touches on. Cordelia asked that Calliope be allowed to help and so… I’m letting her help.”

“Good on you, sir.” Georgie smiled a little. “And I’ll pick her up at four.”

Rudyard surveyed Georgie’s list of performers once she left. Hosts of little bands and choruses, solo singers, and instrumentalists had all offered to play at the funeral. Each group or performer had given their name, the song they’d be performing, and their specialty. Rudyard added Miss Scruple to the mix and created a time table of performances and speeches for the funeral. The quiet clerical work of his job brought him solace and even though he could imagine a thousand ways this could go wrong, he hoped it would not. Finally, after all the musical acts were listed, Rudyard added two more names - his own and Calliope’s, the latter with a small question mark beside it - to the list with only one word bracketing them together: _eulogy_. 

At four, Georgie and Calliope returned to Funn Funerals, chatting about Calliope’s day and the obnoxious boy in maths who had tried to fault her long division and made himself look like a fool for forgetting to carry a number. Rudyard smiled at them and greeted them both. Georgie greeted him back. Calliope mumbled “hello, Mr. Funn” and didn’t look at him. It still hurt terribly, but Rudyard couldn’t fault her for it. So, instead, he told her that Antigone was waiting for her in the mortuary and that when she was done, he had something he would like to talk to her about. Calliope didn’t need to be told twice to go to the mortuary. She abandoned Rudyard and Georgie with her backpack and disappeared downstairs.

The mortuary was cool and dark. When Calliope arrived, Antigone was laying out an array of brightly colored cosmetics on a table. On the embalming table, Cordelia’s body lay motionless. Calliope sucked in her cheeks and forced a smile to her lips.

“Where do we start?” she asked. 

Antigone startled. 

“You’re very quiet coming down those steps,” she said. “Like you’re at home in the darkness and silence.”

“Oh-”

“That’s a good thing!” Antigone held up her hands. “I admire that. Everyone else in this funeral home has no respect for the dark, quiet solemnity our industry calls for.”

“I just didn’t want to interrupt your work in case you were suturing Mum up,” Calliope said. “Mr. Funn said you’d let me help with the last steps.”

“Yes,” Antigone said. “I find that applying a decedent’s make-up can be very intimate. It only seems right if you get to decide how your mother looks at the funeral itself. It’s also… a rather soothing procedure.”

“I’ve never applied makeup before,” Calliope said, excitement catching in her throat. “I’ve only ever embalmed animals before and they don’t need any.”

“Yes, of course. Would you like me to teach you?”

Calliope nodded. Antigone indicated each bottle and tube, explaining what they were all for.

“First, we check the nails and hair,” she said. “The skin recedes in death and makes each appear longer than in life. So we need to give her nails a trim… and then her hair. We might have to shave her and do her eyebrows…” 

Calliope did as she was told, carefully focusing on her mother’s hands as she clipped and buffed and painted her nails. However, her eyes remained downcast, as if she couldn’t bear to look at her mother’s face. Antigone guided her hand as they shaved the body and tweezed the eyebrows. It wasn’t until she dipped her brush into the concealer that she noticed Calliope was trembling. 

“Are you… all right?” Antigone asked. “We can stop if you’d like.”

“No,” Calliope said through clenched teeth. “She is my mother and I want to do this for her. I couldn’t- I couldn’t- I need to do this for her.”

Antigone didn’t pry but carefully instructed Calliope as they applied a thick foundation and light blush. Together, they combed through the lipsticks until Calliope fond the shade that reminded her the most of her mother’s favorite. She seemed to get the knack of it quickly, taking into consideration the solemnity of the occasion, which Antigone spoke of. She was silent, diligent, and only asked questions every so often. When at last they finished, Calliope and Antigone looked at Cordelia as she lay on the embalming table, ready for tomorrow’s viewing and burial. The usual drip of the basement filled the silence.

“She looks peaceful,” Antigone said.

“She looks like herself,” Calliope replied. “I know she isn’t just sleeping - I know that - but she looks like how I remember her before…”

“Yes.”

“Auntigone?”

“Yes?”

“I’m not ready for tomorrow.”

“Death comes for us all, Calliope,” Antigone said. “It doesn’t worry about whether the living are ready for it or not.”

Calliope made a strangled sound like she was suppressing a sob. Antigone opened her mouth to say something else, but Calliope was already half-way to the stairs.

“Thank you so much, Antigone,” she sputtered when Antigone tried to stop her from going. “Next time we do this, let’s not embalm a relative. I… I need a moment.”

“I understand,” Antigone said. 

She braced herself for anger, to be told she didn’t. Instead, the only sound was Calliope’s light, rushed footsteps as she dashed up the stairs, and tumbled into the main room. The sound of footsteps carried up the stairs, sprinting madly down the hall. A bedroom door opened. A bedroom door slammed shut. 

And Rudyard looked up from his writing as he sat on his bed to see his daughter had bolted into his bedroom and closed the door behind her as if something had chased her upstairs. He only had a second to put his pad of paper and pen on the nightstand before Calliope launched onto the bed and buried her wet face into his side. Her tears seeped through the thin fabric of his pajamas and she hugged him fiercely as if she feared whatever had driven her into the room might pull her away from his side. Rudyard awkwardly put an arm around Calliope’s shaking shoulders and her quiet crying became a sob. 

“I couldn’t do anything for her!” Calliope blubbered. “When she got sick… I just, I couldn’t. I didn’t know how to… and then she was in the hospital and… I couldn’t touch her when she was in the hospital! I just sat by her bed and watched and I didn’t-”

“Of course you didn’t know what to do,” Rudyard said softly. “You weren’t meant to. You’re her child, not a doctor.”

“But I didn’t _touch_ her. I didn’t kiss her or hug her or hold her hand and now I can never do those things again and- and-”

Calliope wailed. Rudyard pulled a face at the sound and he was glad she couldn’t see him. He stroked her fine, black hair and twisted so he could hold her better. 

“Now, look here, if I knew your mother at all, she never held that against you,” he said. “She was the kindest, most forgiving person I’ve ever known.”

Calliope sniffed.

“She forgave me enough to entrust me with you,” Rudyard said. _And I did not deserve that forgiveness,_ he thought. “If she could forgive that, she would have easily forgiven you being afraid and helpless in the face of-”

“But she c-can’t! She isn’t here and she can’t forgive me and she died without knowing that I loved her.”

“She knew very much that you loved her,” Rudyard said. “In her letter to me, she told me that you were the best thing that ever happened in her life. People don’t say that kind of thing about people they don’t love and who don’t love them.”

Calliope’s crying eased. For a long, quiet moment, Rudyard held her and he didn’t think about the eulogy he was writing or the funeral he was planning or the opinions of the villagers or the fight he and Calliope had had. He just held her, stroking her hair as she cried and cried until her little body went slack in his arms.

“Dad?” she mumbled when the crying abated. 

Strange elation filled Rudyard. He felt dizzy, airy, light. His eyes welled with tears that he refused to cry now but that he hadn’t realized were brimming under his surface so freely. 

_She's never called me 'Dad' before._

“Yes?”

“Earlier today, I didn’t mean…”

“I know.”

“You said all the right things when we were fighting.” Calliope sat up and looked at her father. Two pairs of dark brown eyes, both filled with dangerous emotions met. “I didn’t expect you to, but you did, and I didn’t… I wanted to be cross with you. Because if I was angry with you, I didn’t have to be angry at myself or Mum or God or Doctor Edgeware or-”

“You have a lot of people you’re angry at right now,” Rudyard said. “And I deserved your anger. I did. I’m trying to get this right; there’s nothing I’ve wanted to get right more than being your dad and I went about it all wrong. You deserve better.”

“I don’t want better,” Calliope said. Her lips quivered. “I want you and Mum. I want- I want the family we should have been.”

The tears Rudyard had tried to hold back slipped down his cheeks and he continued to fumble with Calliope’s hair. 

“We both do,” he said. “But failing that… you know my offer still stands.”

“Good.”

Calliope laughed weakly and hugged Rudyard again. He embraced her. Again, silent moments passed by. Neither of them filled the silence until the crying subsided. When, at last spent, father and daughter sat on the bed, too tired to cry anymore, Calliope looked over at the bedside table. 

“What were you working on?” she asked. Her voice was hoarse and croaky. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about it,” he said. “I’m writing a speech for your mother’s funeral. I wanted to ask if you wanted to do the official eulogy-”

“I can’t,” Calliope said, panic rising in her voice. “Dad… I’ll just cry in front of all the people and I won’t- I can’t- I-”

“Would you still like to speak at your mother’s funeral?” Rudyard asked gently. “You don’t have to.”

“I just don’t… I don’t want the last thing everyone hears is me sobbing.”

“I understand,” Rudyard said. He felt sure she knew he did. He’d eulogized both his mother and father, though neither of them had been as good a parent as Cordelia had. “Would you like to go next to last?”

Calliope nodded hesitantly.

“Will you give Mum a proper send-off?” she asked hesitantly. “It won’t work if we both cry.”

“Crying… might be a natural part of the grieving process,” Rudyard said. “But I’ll do right by your mother. It’s the least I can do after she’s given me you.” 

Calliope smiled through her tears and Rudyard picked up his legal pad and pen and then, inspired, reached into the bedside table and pulled out a second pad and pen. He handed the blank one to Calliope. He smiled at her as she accepted and they descended once more into silence, which was filled instead by the scratch of pens against paper and, later, punctuated by shared memories of the woman they both loved in their own ways and hoped to honor. 


	8. In Which the Funns Conduct a Funeral

The day of the funeral arrived and all of Funn Funerals set about work early. Georgie and Antigone laid Cordelia in the coffin carefully for transport to the church. Rudyard returned from having programs printed, having only made one person cry at the print shop. Calliope manned the telephones and edited her speech very carefully between callers. Madeline sat with her, watching as Calliope wrote and offering encouraging squeaks whenever Calliope got stuck or seemed too frustrated to go on. 

“Everything sounds cliche,” Calliope mumbled to Madeline when she was sure her family was out of earshot. “It isn’t enough to say she was the single most important person in my life. Don’t all children say that about their mothers?”

A squeak.

Calliope sighed. As she did, Georgie entered, carrying armfuls of scraggly flowers and cursing Petunia Bloom and Rudyard on the same breath. Calliope sprang up and offered to help carry some of the flowers. 

“I need to get these to the church,” Georgie said as she and Calliope set them down on the floor. “I’ve never seen Rudyard order so many flowers for one funeral… even if they’re a sorry excuse for-”

“I think Mum would have liked them,” Calliope said, trying to be cheerful through her grief. “Especially the daisies. She always said they were the friendliest flowers.”

“Right.” Georgie didn’t sound convinced. “And that big, gaudy display?”

She nodded towards the giant vase of lilies and roses. Calliope wrinkled her nose and shrugged. 

“Those have been here since yesterday,” she said. “I don’t think Dad ordered them. Mum would have said it was the thought that counted.”

“Yeah, but whose thought is it if Rudyard didn’t order them?” Georgie asked. “Did your mum have any… admirers?”

“I mean, a lot of people admired her,” Calliope said. “She was the most accomplished musician in a mile radius.”

“Mhm.” Georgie crossed the room and picked up the card nestled between the blooms. Then, aloud, she read, “Dear Rudyard, Calliope, and Funn Funerals - I’m truly sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do, anything at all, you know where to find me. Yours most sincerely-  _ Chapman! _ ”

“What’s he done now?” Rudyard asked emerging from the kitchen. His cheek was streaked with flour and he smelled faintly of cinnamon. His sleeves were pushed back and he wore a faded apron that, at one point, must have said something like “Your Opinion Wasn’t In The Recipe” but was now missing some letters. Madeline sat on his shoulder. 

Georgie squinted at him.

“Never mind what he’s done,” she said. “What are you doing?”

“Baking,” Rudyard said. “We can’t afford a caterer and from the look of it, we’re going to have quite the crowd. We could at least feed them.”

“Great. Our first successful funeral and you’re going to give everyone food poisoning,” Antigone hissed as she materialized from the shadows. She sniffed and then sneezed a few times. “Christ! What are all these flowers?”

“Petunia Bloom and Eric Chapman send their love,” Georgie said archly. She handed Antigone the note, which she read quietly. Then, sighing, Georgie said, “It seems like your ex was as universally liked as you are unpopular, sir.”

“Which is why,” Rudyard said, “I’m trying to make this special. I… revisited my cookbook. I found an old note tucked in the pages.”

Madeline scampered down his shirtfront and ducked into his pocket. She popped back up, holding a yellowed scrap of paper Squeaking, she offered it to the gathered members of Funn Funerals. Calliope took it from her gingerly. 

“Cordelia’s favorite,” she read out loud. She looked at Rudyard quizzically, fresh tears gathering in her eyes. 

“We may not have lasted,” he told her, “but I cared about your mother. Before you were born, we used to exchange recipes - I was just learning and she was a genius at them. Would you like to help me in the kitchen? These chocolate biscuits won’t make themselves.” 

“Georgie?” Calliope asked as if seeking permission. 

“Go with your dad,” Georgie said. “I can set up the flower display at the church. I’m great at designing floral arrangements.”

Calliope followed Rudyard into the kitchen and sat at the table with her speech while he worked. She watched him whisking ingredients together, following the recipe to the letter. 

“One of the reasons I wanted to cook with you,” Rudyard said, “is when you made dinner that first night, I realized you got Cordelia’s flair for the culinary arts.”

“She was always so much better at this stuff than me,” Calliope said wistfully. “I had so much to learn from her.”

“Well, she had twenty-five years experience on you,” Rudyard said. “I remember some of her experimental dishes… experimental is the kindest word for them.”

Calliope laughed weakly.

“Did you get the programs done, then?” she asked.

Rudyard nodded.

“And the schedule is finalized. I’m going to go over everything with everyone before the service,” he assured her. “This is one funeral I want to handle with care.”

“Shouldn’t you want to handle all your funerals with care?” Calliope asked. “It might give you a competitive edge over Chapman.”

“There’s no competing with Chapman,” Rudyard said, popping another tray of biscuits into the oven. “He has a bouncy castle and a bakery.” 

“Oh.”

“What we offer at Funn Funerals is different,” Rudyard said. “And different isn’t a bad thing.”

Calliope hummed in agreement and silence descended over father and daughter as one watched the oven and the other stared at her legal pad. After a few minutes’ silence, Rudyard crossed to the table where Calliope sat and peered over her shoulder.

“How is the speech coming?” he asked. 

Calliope’s shoulders slumped. Her feet swung in circles. 

“I worked on it all night last night,” she said. “I want it to be perfect.”

Rudyard smiled sadly. He had awoken this morning with Calliope’s head on his chest and her legal pad on his stomach. She’d stayed in his room, writing furiously, even after he’d finished his eulogy and fallen asleep. The grey morning stealing over her exhausted features brought back memories and dreams of what could have been in another life. He’d been so careful not to wake her when he stroked her hair, slid out from underneath her, and kissed her temple. Since getting up, she’d been working on her legal pad, writing furiously, and not speaking much to anyone. Rudyard wanted to worry, but a part of him felt a little too serene. Watching his daughter’s perfectionism made his heart swell with pride. 

“Just make it earnest,” Rudyard said. “If I strove for perfection, I’d be Eric Chapman by now.”

Calliope looked at him dubiously. 

“Or maybe I’d be better than him,” Rudyard mused. “The point isn’t perfection. It’s saying what’s on your heart. God knows you haven’t had much of a chance to do that in the last few days. It’ll be good for you to get it all out there.”

Calliope nodded. The oven timer buzzed. Rudyard pulled another batch of biscuits out and added them to the already heaping plate. He loaded another batch of biscuits into the oven and turned his attention to an antique punch bowl that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. He began to follow another recipe to make something non-alcoholic to drink. It fizzed a pleasant pink color. 

“Dad?” 

“Hmm?”

“I think I know what I want to write,” Calliope said. “The funeral is in two hours.”

“Then you better get to it,” he said. “When this batch is done, I’m going to get ready and go over to the church. Will you be ready to come with me?”

“I’ll meet you later,” Calliope said. Then, hesitantly, shyly, she asked, “You don’t think Madeline could stick around with me, though? I might need a professional writer’s help…”

Madeline squeaked with assent from Rudyard’s shoulder. Rudyard looked at his favorite mouse with a smile and helped her onto the table with Calliope. 

“She’d be happy to help,” he said. The oven buzzed and Rudyard had several dozen chocolate biscuits to take down the road to the church. He hefted the biscuits and punch onto an oversized, silvered tray. “Don’t be late.” 

“I won’t,” Calliope swore. “Just promise me you’ll get cleaned up before-”

“Yes, of course. This isn’t my first-” He paused and cleared his throat. “Of course. Thank you.”

Rudyard went upstairs to change into his best suit, which wasn’t much, but a simple, black affair that matched the solemnity of the occasion. He nipped downstairs to get the tray and say goodbye to Calliope. Then, carefully, he eased down the steps of Funn Funerals into the overcast street. No sooner than he had set foot upon the cobblestones, someone called his name. Rudyard paused and gingerly turned to face Eric Chapman. 

“Need a hand?” Chapman asked. “I’ve got two of them.”

“I can manage without either of your hands, Chapman,” Rudyard said. “But if it isn’t any trouble, you could take the punch bowl.”

“Of course,” Chapman said. He took it off Rudyard’s hands very carefully. “It’s lovely.”

“It was my mother’s,” Rudyard said. “Antigone and I haven’t used it for funerals in seventeen years.”

“I see,” Chapman said. “But now…”

“I made a little something for guests,” he said. “I hope they don’t expect this to become standard practice. I only did it because Cordelia was the mother of my child.”

“You don’t have any others like her running around Piffling, do you?”

“Of course not!” Rudyard almost upended the tray of biscuits. “Just the one.”

“Very good.” Chapman sighed. Rudyard narrowed his eyes at him. “I mean… I don’t know what I mean.”

The rest of the walk to the church passed in silence. In the foyer, Georgie had set up a rickety card table, draped with the same picnic blanket that had covered the table when Antigone once performed a seance. Rudyard instructed Chapman to set down the punch beside plastic glasses and he placed the biscuits down, too.

“There we go,” Chapman said. “Is there anything else I can help with?”

“I’m sure that’s everything,” Rudyard said. “The funeral isn’t for another hour or so…”

“There you are!” Georgie rushed into the foyer from the main atrium. “Rudyard, we have a problem.”

“Are all the performers accounted for?” he asked. 

“Yeah, it’s not the performers-”

“And Antigone isn’t scaring away guests?”

“Antigone’s fine-”

“And Calliope is finishing her speech and will be on her way shortly,” Rudyard said. “So I fail to see-”

“Davey Christensen broke his leg,” Georgie said. “He’s in St. Spratt’s with Dr. Edgeware.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who that is,” Rudyard said. 

“Traveling clavichord salesman,” Georgie said. “Supposed to help you lead the pallbearers.”

“Ah.” Rudyard frowned. “I see.”

“I can be a pallbearer,” Chapman said. “I have two hands.”

He raised them as if giving Rudyard evidence that he had two hands. Georgie and Rudyard exchanged dark glances. Rudyard seemed to win the staring match because he looked back at Chapman with a little half-smile.

“Only because there are no other options,” Rudyard said. “You understand, that under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t allow you to-”

“I understand. But this is an honor, Rudyard. Really.”

“Eric Chapman saves the day, yet again,” Georgie grumbled. 

Chapman flushed almost as pink as the punch and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“As Rudyard said, there are no other options,” he said. “I’m glad to do it.”

The musicians began to arrive and Rudyard corralled them at the front of the church, reminding them of the schedule and allowing them to warm up their voices and instruments and pay their respects to Cordelia, who lay at the front of the church. Rudyard hazarded a glance into the coffin and his breath caught in his chest. He recognized her, really recognized her, for the first time since he’d seen her body in Chapman Community Hospital. She looked vibrant as if she might open her eyes any moment and ask Rudyard where their daughter was and how his mandolin practicing was coming along. Tears stung his eyes. He couldn’t remember getting choked up at a funeral like this since his parents’ passing. He massaged his throat and reached into his jacket pocket. He could feel his speech, folded up small in the interior pocket. Something else caught his attention. He pulled it out: the photograph Chapman had taken of Rudyard and Calliope as they readied to walk to school. He looked at Calliope, beaming in the morning sunshine. He’d thought all this time how much she looked like him, but he could see Cordelia in her nose, her confidence, her stance. 

“You should be proud of her,” he murmured to Cordelia’s corpse. “She’s the best of both of us.”

Quickly, Rudyard’s conversation with Cordelia was cut short by Reverend Wavering asking how much he ought to talk about God in his sermon and then people filing in early to get seats. He could see Mayor Desmond in the front row, using his program as a plate for his chocolate biscuits. Sid Marlowe and his camera entered, and though he didn’t snap any photographs, he kept eyeing Rudyard as if he wanted to speak to him but would wait a little longer. On his arm, Petunia Bloom prattled, gesturing at Georgie’s set up of the florals she’d provided. Then, came the flood of mourners - students of Cordelia’s and other villagers, who must’ve seen an obituary or had nothing better to do on a Friday. Rudyard scanned the crowd for Calliope.

“Are you ready for this?” Antigone asked, materializing at Rudyard’s side in her quiet way. “You seem… nervous.”

“Just waiting for Calliope,” he said. “She asked Madeline for help with her speech… I would have thought she’d be here by now…”

The twins exchanged worried glances. Rudyard didn’t need a sixth sense to know that Antigone was thinking the same thing that he was:  _ what if she runs _ ? Just as Rudyard was about to offer to dash back home to get Calliope a quiet voice at his other elbow startled him.

“Dad?”

Relief, warm and rushing, coursed through Rudyard’s veins as he looked down at Calliope. Her wide, dark eyes were serious. Madeline perched upon Calliope’s shoulder. Her whiskers quivered with excitement. 

“I finished,” Calliope said. “I think I’m ready.”

Rudyard had only just enough time to usher her to their assigned places before the reverend began to speak.

“We are gathered here today to mourn the passing and celebrate the life of Cordelia Roach, Piffling Vale’s premier music teacher and the best oud player, flutist, and classically trained mezzo-soprano in a mile radius…”

Rudyard didn’t listen fully to Reverend Wavering’s speech as just as with every other funeral Reverend Wavering had ever done, the vicar waxed agnostic poetry about whether God existed and if He or She did, in fact, exist, what sort of musical instruments He or She would have preferred. The reverend’s speech lasted a solid ten minutes before he announced -

“We are in for something of a treat for this funeral. In a stroke of what may or may not be divine inspiration, Rudyard Funn has gathered Cordelia’s former music pupils who are going to give us a little concert before we move on to eulogies. If you haven’t already, there are refreshments at the entrance… A rare treat indeed…”

The concert began with Miss Scruple’s off-tempo organ playing, was followed by a quartet of stringed instruments, then a solo performance by one of Cordelia’s voice students who had a small but devoted following on the continent, and finally a chorus of schoolchildren performing their rendition of what might have been “Amazing Grace”. Some people were crying, but most were sipping punch and munching on chocolate biscuits as if they were at the movies and didn’t have access to popcorn. Rudyard, for his part, was less moved by the crowd or the performers than he was by Calliope’s little hand in his, squeezing hard. She seemed enthralled by the musicians. One day, when all of this was a memory, Rudyard might show Calliope his mandolin playing. As the last note died, Reverend Wavering took the podium once more, applauding. 

“Oh, bravo!” he said. “That really was spectacular! And now, to remind everybody that this is a funeral and not just a free concert, Cordelia’s family has a few words to share with us, commemorating her… Are you ready?”

Calliope looked up at Rudyard. He nodded. She let go of his hand and walked to the coffin, bowed her head, and kissed her mother’s cheek. She murmured something against Cordelia’s cold skin, but no one could hear just what. Then, she ascended the steps of the podium and unfolded her speech in front of her.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” she said, voice very small. She frowned and readjusted the microphone. She cleared her throat and the microphone caught the sound this time. “There we go. Good afternoon. My name is Calliope Roach-Funn and I’m here to tell all of you about my mother, Cordelia Roach. Growing up, it was just me and mum. A lot of people this week seem to think I should be mad about that, but I’m not. She was the best mother a kid could ask for. If you knew my mother, you probably know she was a little eccentric. Before coming to Piffling Vale, she’d traveled around the world, researching obscure instruments and getting trained to sing by some of the world’s top vocal coaches. She could have been a star or a professor of music theory or a curator of some weird museum. Instead, she settled here to raise me. I asked her once why she didn’t pursue any number of things, why she stayed here. And she told me she wanted to give me a normal life. She never did. She did better than that. She used to teach me to cook dishes from around the world, that she’d learned to make when she was a more adventurous spirit. Because of her, I know how to make Tunisian couscous and play Spanish castanets and count to ten in three languages. More importantly, because of her, I know that it’s okay to be a little weird. She taught me to laugh at myself before anyone else could and love myself even when other people didn’t understand me because even when she didn’t understand me, she loved me. When I got involved in the Piffling Scouts and got excited about camping, Mum got every book from the library about wilderness survival and we would read them in the lawn under the stars and talk about adventures I could one day have. And when I decided I wanted to be a funeral director… she could very easily have told me I’d grow out of my dream, but instead, she took me to every funeral on Piffling and bought me my first junior embalmer’s kit. And when my hamster died… and my bird… and my cat… she let me host funerals for all of them. You would think that all that practice would make me a natural at this whole thing, but nothing ever prepares you to lose the most important person in your life.”

Calliope choked up for a moment. Rudyard lurched forward a little as if to rush to her and comfort her, but she dabbed her wet eyes with a tissue and cleared her throat. Calliope looked at her notes again and began once more. 

“I told my dad last night that I’m angry and I was. I was angry at the universe for taking my mum from me and I was angry at her for leaving me alone, but she hasn’t. Not really. Mum was always transparent with me, that I had other family on the island. I realize now that she didn’t pursue a career beyond teaching maybe not to give me a ‘normal’ life, but to give me a life that was always filled with love. I’ve been saying my goodbyes to my mother all week long and I’ve gotten to say hello to other members of my family for the first time - my dad and my aunts and Madeline - and I like to think Mum knew that there were people on this island who are just as weird as we were and who would be willing to love me when she could no longer walk with me. Mum gave me so many things - curiosity and confidence and now a safe place to land when she can’t be here to catch me. I will always love her and never stop missing her, but if you knew my mother at all, you would also know that she believed that for better or worse, life always marches on. She wouldn’t want me to let my grief keep me from growing into someone who would make us both proud. So, Mum, if you’re listening at all, I’m not mad at you. I can’t be. Thank you… for everything. I promise I’ll make you proud.”

Rudyard looked at the folded up piece of paper with his eulogy on it and tucked it deeper into his pocket. Calliope dismounted the pedestal and Reverend Wavering looked over at Rudyard as if to ask if he was going to eulogize the deceased. Rudyard shook his head and took Calliope in his arms and held her as the procession of mourners said their goodbyes. She buried her face in his side and cried. Neither of them watched the others say goodbye. But when it was all done, Antigone tugged Calliope away from Rudyard and he joined Chapman and the other pallbearers. He took one last look at Cordelia.

“I’ll take care of her from here,” he whispered before closing the lid. “Thank you.”

Then, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Chapman, Rudyard helped to lift the coffin and carry it for burial in the churchyard, atop a little hill with a clear view of the horizon in the distance. As the last layer of dirt covered the coffin, the rain began to fall. 


	9. In Which Life Goes On

The week passed by with surreal swiftness as Funn Funerals acclimated to Calliope’s presence fully. It soon felt as if there had never been a time without her on the premises. Antigone now had someone to talk to in the darkness of the mortuary who talked back, offering a ten-year-old’s insight and perspective on issues that, perhaps, it was best not to discuss with a ten-year-old just yet. Georgie stopped worrying so much when Mayor Desmond and Rudyard accidentally double-booked her because she knew that if something needed to be done at Funn Funerals, it would get taken care of and that when she returned, Rudyard wouldn’t have cut too many corners since Calliope would be reciting to him  National Association of Funeral Directors’ Code of Practice to remind him what was and was not ethically sound and physically safe. Rudyard wondered often how they had managed before without Calliope, but he tried not to think too hard on it. Calliope, meanwhile, soaked in the adoration of her new family. She and Rudyard had moved all of her things from her mother’s old house and set up her bedroom at Funn Funerals. That day had been the hardest. Standing in Cordelia’s cottage, looking at untouched furniture and things left behind from a life cut short stopped Rudyard’s breath for a moment. Yellowing bits of mail from the week before she died sat in neat stacks upon the table. Furniture gathered light dust. The icebox was covered in hand-crafted magnets and Calliope’s schoolwork. Rudyard surveyed it all and then looked at Calliope, boldly staring at the walls. 

“This is all yours now,” he said to her. “The house, the furniture… Cordelia willed it to you.”

“I’m not at the age of majority,” Calliope said a little blankly. “You’re my trustee.”

For a moment, Rudyard forgot the gravity of the situation. His heart was light with giddiness at the prospect of bringing in new furniture to Funn Funerals to replace what they hadn’t yet gotten around to since using much of it for coffins all those months ago with the clowns. He quickly remembered that this was no mercenary mission. These things, these very real and tangible things, were the only reminders Calliope had of her mother’s existence. Swallowing, he looked over at her. 

“Whatever you want to keep, we’ll keep,” he said. “Let’s make a list.” 

Together, they wrote out a list of furniture Calliope wanted in her bedroom and thought might liven up Funn Funerals. They made a separate list of furniture to donate or sell and she told Rudyard he could set the prices - that she didn’t care to have everything or how much they made off the sale, just that there were things she couldn’t part with. She missed her own bed and her books and her mother’s giant map of the world with the little pins in it, noting the places Calliope most wanted to go. She thought the living room set would be more comfortable than the furniture in Funn Funerals, but preferred Rudyard’s dining table. When Georgie arrived to help transport things, Calliope pulled Rudyard into the third bedroom. It wasn’t set up as a bedroom. A little upright piano sat in one corner. A shelf contained books of sheet music. Other assorted instruments lay strewn about the floor and filled a closet. An old desk with spindly, French-styled legs looked out the window, onto the overgrown garden below. 

“Do we have room in Funn Funerals for a piano?” Calliope asked.

“We could make room,” Rudyard mused. “I suppose it would look good in the coffin showroom… Add a bit of class…”

“What about a high-backed desk chair?”

Rudyard stopped and looked to where his daughter had moved. She stood beside the desk. More accurately, she stood beside her mother’s old desk chair, which compared to the desk, looked positively regal. Rudyard ran his nimble fingers down the finely carved wood. He noticed with delight that the back and seat were cushioned in padded, blue fabric.

“This was Mum’s work chair,” Calliope said. “It could be yours. For the front of the funeral home.”

“I don’t understand…”

“I told you you needed a proper chair,” Calliope said. “And it would make the front of the house feel more professional. I always thought this chair looked… stately.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Should I leave you alone with that chair then, sir?” Georgie asked, popping her head in the room. “You’re caressin’ it.”

Rudyard stopped touching the chair. 

“Add this to the things we’re bringing home,” he said. “Thank you, Calliope.”

Calliope said nothing but tucked her hair behind a pink ear. Georgie dragged the chair from the room. Standing alone together, Rudyard looked at Calliope curiously. 

“You know, the house is yours, too,” he said. “We don’t have to sell it or empty it or-”

“No, I know,” Calliope said. “But someday, I want to go to school on the mainland or travel the world or… a million things.”

“Ah. And you don’t think you could-”

“Not without the money from the house, no,” she finished, bowing her head. “Look, I know you and Auntigone and Georgie work really hard and that you’ll do your best by me, but I want… Things I can’t ask you for. Mum left me the house and that means she left me a way to do everything I always dreamed of.”

“But this was your home-”

“Was,” she said. “But things are just things and a house is just a house. My home is where my family is.”

“If you’re certain… We could just hang onto it for a few more years, revisit this when you’re of age and not grieving-”

“Dad. If you’re gonna be my trustee, you need to trust me enough to let me make my own decisions. This won’t work otherwise.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works…” Rudyard protested. Calliope squeezed his hand. 

“Think about the piano,” she said. “I’m going to get all of Mum’s recipes out of the kitchen and start sorting through photo albums before you find any embarrassing pictures of me.”

Before Rudyard could protest, Calliope disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. He looked at the music books and instruments half-heartedly, not even sure where to begin and wandered out of the music room, towards the back of the house. Calliope’s room was done, but neither of them had dared to venture into Cordelia’s room. While Calliope was occupied, Rudyard pushed open the door and stepped into a bedroom he hadn’t seen in years. The lingering scent of floral perfume and the staleness Rudyard associated with illness-related death hung in the air. The bed was made, sheets tucked in and pillows organized by height. The vanity, however, sat in disarray. Cosmetics had been left to dry in the last few days or weeks and photographs were tucked into the mirror haphazardly. Rudyard approached it to look at the photographs. It didn’t surprise him to see that they were of Calliope. There was one of her as a baby, bird-legged and red-faced, staring intently at the camera as if she was mad it had caught her at an unflattering moment. There was a picture of her in dungarees she’d clearly picked out herself on the first day of kindergarten, hair up in pig-tails. There was a picture of Calliope in scouts, wearing a badge-covered sash and a semi-toothless grin. Rudyard smiled at these little moments and considered tucking them into his jacket with the picture of him and Calliope that Chapman had taken. He thought better of it. Then he turned his attention to the closet. Remembering Cordelia’s letter, he opened it. He parted the sea of oddly-patterned dresses and found a medium-sized box, cool to the touch from having sat in the dark so long. When he pulled it out he saw that the wood was engraved:  _ For Rudyard _ . He cracked open the box and saw dozens, maybe hundreds, of sealed letters. Cordelia’s loopy cursive marked all of them.  _ First love. First heartbreak. When Calliope is sad. When Calliope is angry with you. When Calliope is happy and she wishes I could see her now. When Calliope leaves home. _ Rudyard’s throat tightened. He swallowed hard and examined as many cards as he could before the door opened.

“Dad?”

Rudyard snapped the box shut and turned to face Calliope.

“What are you doing?” she asked, voice raising towards hysterics. “This was Mum’s room-”

“I know-”

“Did you go through her things?” 

“No-”

“Then why are you in here? I want to go through Mum’s things myself.”

“Now look here,” Rudyard said. “Your mother left me something in all of this. She told me to come and get it and that’s all I’m doing.”

He showed Calliope the closed, wooden box. 

“I don’t want to invade your mother’s privacy - or yours. I just came for what Cordelia willed to me in her letter. I’ll give you as long as you need in here with her things.”

Calliope nodded stubbornly and watched as Rudyard left to help Georgie haul furniture and boxes back to Funn Funerals. Two hours later, Calliope emerged from her mother’s room, clutching a little bottle of floral perfume, a handful of photographs, and the quilt from the bed. Her puffy eyes said all Rudyard needed to hear. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep the house until you’re eighteen?” he asked. “It might accrue interest and aid you on your world travels.”

Calliope sniffed but smiled. 

“If I don’t do it now, I’ll never do it,” she said. “But I want the money put in a special account for when I’m old enough to do something with it.”

Rudyard nodded. He didn’t entirely understand, but it wasn’t about understanding. It was simply about supporting Calliope. Once home, they began the process of unpacking, which lasted weeks. Rudyard could always tell when Antigone deigned to join them on the main floor as she stubbed her toe on a box and let out a stream of mild oaths and swears. Eventually, the house looked more like a home and the funeral home regained its lively pace. The cottage sold to a young couple, looking to expand, and the money made off of the furnishings Calliope had rejected went towards some improvements of Funn Funerals. Calliope demanded the installation of freezers in the mortuary and Antigone, who usually rejected anyone else’s input on her domain, quickly agreed. The embalming machine was replaced and home repairs were made. Rudyard set to his secret project once he checked the accounts. Calliope discovered it on the last day of school as she disembarked from Georgie’s mo-ped and saw the sign in front of Funn Funerals her father just finished painting.

“Funn Funerals,” she read, “Piffling’s Only Family-Owned and -Operated Funeral Home.”

“It’s not as catchy as my original slogan,” Rudyard said. “But I suppose we can still get the body in the coffin the ground on time… as a family.”

Calliope threw off her helmet and launched into his arms for a warm and well-deserved hug. 

The following day, Calliope readied herself for Douglas’ end-of-term pool party at Chapman’s. Antigone fussed over her, slathering her in sunscreen until she was whiter than a ghost. 

“Did you take your allergy tablet?” Antigone asked. “I don’t want you going int anaphylaxis around the other children.”

“I took two,” Calliope promised. 

“That’s my girl.” Antigone touched Calliope’s cheek. “I wish I had been as brave as you are at your age. Going to pool parties with other children, despite my allergies. Of course, to go to the pool party, you’d have to be invited and no one ever noticed me…”

“You can still take my place and chaperone,” Rudyard said cheerfully from the doorway of Calliope’s bedroom. “I’m not looking forward to socializing with Piffling’s other parents again.”

“At the Scout Cook-Off, you were far too pleased with being Piffling’s most eligible single father,” Antigone said peevishly. 

“That was before the bake sale,” Rudyard reminded her with a small shudder. “Things change, Antigone. That’s the way of the world.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me on the way the world is,” Antigone hissed. Calliope cleared her throat. “Besides, it isn’t about you. You’re just supposed to watch the children and make sure no one drowns.”

“Yes,” Rudyard said, a little sadly. “I suspect that since we’ll be on Chapman’s premises, he’d get the funeral if anyone drowned.”

“Christ....!”

Calliope giggled. 

“Do you have your present for Douglas?” Rudyard asked. 

Calliope held up a small, wrapped box. 

“Is it an embalmed animal?” Rudyard asked.

Calliope lowered the box sheepishly.

“I have a backup present,” she promised, pulling another box out of her desk. “And the rice.”

“Er… I don’t think you actually need the rice, now that I think about it,” Rudyard said. “We’ll just make that for dinner tonight.”

Calliope nodded seriously. 

“Antigone, last chance to change your mind and put yourself out there to socialize,” Rudyard said, looking at his sister hopefully.

“Not a chance,” Antigone said, wiping her sunscreen-oiled hands down Rudyard’s face, prompting him to protest loudly. “While you two enjoy meaningless social frivolities, I will be enjoying an afternoon of fine literature.”

“Is it a raunchy book?” Calliope asked.

“You really ought to stop leaving them lying around,” Rudyard said. “You’re going to be a bad influence on my daughter one day.”

Antigone all but chased Rudyard and Calliope, wearing their swimming suits, out of the funeral home, and across the square. They followed the helpful maps in the lobby of Chapman’s to the pool and once there, Calliope gave her backup present dutifully to Douglas’ mother smiled and waved an awkward goodbye to Rudyard, just before Douglas shoved her in the pool. Rudyard cried out and lunged forward, but Calliope bobbed up in the water, sputtering and laughing before Douglas cannonballed in after her. 

The other parents stood around the pool wearing brightly colored shirts and shorts and every type of bathing suit imaginable. They talked amongst themselves, eyeing Rudyard with mingled wariness and interest. He supposed he made for an odd figure in a Victorian-style bathing suit, but it seemed indecent to turn up to a children’s party only in swimming trunks. He watched Calliope, a dark streak in the water, racing other children with an athleticism she must have gotten from her mother. A smile crept onto his face. He didn’t need to join the other adults to enjoy the moment. 

“Hello, Rudyard.”

And just like that, Rudyard’s peace turned to something else. He stood up straighter and looked at Eric Chapman, clad only in blue swimming trunks and a smile, standing at the edge of the pool beside him. A small smile turned the corner of Rudyard’s lips. 

“Chapman.” 

“Calliope looks like she’s having fun,” Chapman said. Rudyard followed his gaze just in time to see Calliope win the swimming race. “Are you?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Chapman asked. “I heard about the bake sale…”

“I don’t want to discuss the bake sale,” Rudyard said tightly. “I’ve already told everyone that I didn’t mean to knock the pie table over.”

“Right. Sorry.” Chapman didn’t look particularly sorry. He paused. “I saw your new sign.”

“Yes. I hoped you would. I’ve also put an ad in the paper.”

“Page seven, yes, I saw that too,” Chapman said. “Piffling’s Only Family-Owned and -Operated Funeral Home Since the 15th Century.” 

“Do you like it?”

“Not particularly, no,” Chapman said. Rudyard smirked. “Actually, I preferred your original slogan. It was catchy.”

“Genius is never appreciated in its time.”

“Does this mean you’re set on competing with me?” Chapman asked. “Still?”

“My whole world has changed in the last few months,” Rudyard said. “You and I are a constant.”

“Right.”

“Nothing has changed between us, Chapman,” Rudyard continued. “You may put the fun in funerals, but at Funn Funerals, we value tradition, efficiency, and family.”

“Are you done advertising to me?”

“Almost,” Rudyard promised. “At Funn Funerals, our family takes care of yours.”

“That’s actually quite good,” Chapman said.

“I think so.”

A silence descended upon the two men. They looked over at the other adults, drinking their colas and talking amongst themselves as the children splashed around. Laughter filled the air and so did the smell of chlorine and sunscreen. Rudyard hadn’t ever seen anything quite like it and he wasn’t sure it was for him. Calliope seemed happy, though, now engrossed in a game of Marco Polo. His smirk turned into a genuine smile, soft and faltering as if anyone telling him not to smile would make it disappear. 

“Rudyard?”

Rudyard braced himself.

“I was thinking… The other parents have this well in hand. I know all this talking to people and socializing isn’t your thing…”

“What’s your point, Chapman?”

“Would you like to grab a coffee with me?” Chapman asked. “Get away from the crowd, catch up a little, professional-rival to professional-rival?”

“Calliope-”

“Rudyard, your daughter is the most capable ten-year-old I have ever seen,” Chapman said. “She’ll be fine. You need to give her some space.”

“How dare you give me parenting advice!” Rudyard snapped. He cast one more look at Calliope, grinning and blissfully unaware of him. He smiled at her and then, turning to Chapman, said, “Only because she deserves a little space. I still want cinnamon in mine.”

Chapman smiled. Relief broke out like a sunrise on his face and Rudyard didn’t think he’d ever seen Chapman smile quite like that. Ridiculous thought; Chapman smiled all the time. It sent a pang of something through Rudyard - confusion mostly, but also the joy that some things would always be the same, even as his world continued to change and expand. He smiled back at Chapman a little more certainly and side-by-side, they made their way from the indoor pool towards the cafe. Later, when Rudyard picked Calliope up from the party, she was so engrossed in her own joy that she didn’t notice her father casting one, long look over his shoulder at Chapman’s before ushering her inside. 

Some things had stayed the same over the last few months; others had changed so radically that Rudyard wondered how it was that he was the same person he had been a few months ago. Maybe he wasn’t. And maybe that was the best thing of all: for the first time in his life, Rudyard Funn could genuinely say that he was happy. It was long overdue.

Of course, tomorrow would be a new day, and the island’s only family-owned and -operated funeral home would have to face another day of competition, struggle, and hardship.

But at least they’d face it together. 


End file.
